


Lost When Found

by JailynnW



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Agents of SHIELD, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bobbi Morse makes an appearance, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross Over, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Foggy's POV, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, Multiple chapter story, Physical Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, So does Phil Coulson - Freeform, That might change in later chapters, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JailynnW/pseuds/JailynnW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Two hours later he would be taken from his bed by men he didn't have a chance to fight."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And no one listened...

**Chapter one: And No One Listened**

“Son of a...” Foggy's voice cracked, wrecked and broken. He licked his dry lips, not that it did any good. His mouth was just as dry. His tongue felt like sandpaper against his the roof of his mouth. 

“Help.” He choked on the word this time. He's called out, said it so much, he doesn't even try as hard anymore to make it heard.

No one heard him anyway. Or at least no one he wanted to hear him. His captors heard. Heard and laughed. Cruel laughter. They used it against him. Mocked him with the word. _Help. _No one helped. No one came. No one stopped the torture. Even his own mind had fled, blinking out, escaping into the abyss of happier times- real and imagined.__

Abandoned. 

Alone. 

In agony. 

And no one listened.

The only light bulb was swinging from the ceiling with the rocking of the boat flickered around him like a slow moving strobe light. Blackness, light, blackness, light. His insides felt like lead. Heavy and hard from the minutes (hours, days, weeks, fuck how long? He doesn't remember anymore) that he's been here. His stomach felt prickly like when a limb goes to sleep. He knows that's dehydration from when he had the flu at the age of the sixteen. That sucked. This was so much worst than that. 

His brain was throbbing, felt too big for the space it was in. Foggy pressed his head against the cool metal wall, closing his eyes and breathing past the pain. The skin pulled over his bones in weird ways. Split apart, some healing, bruised and others gaped open. Dark blood oozing with a slowness that made him want to wipe it off but he couldn't. It was near impossible. He longed to be clean. Clean of dirt, sweat, blood, pain, _everything_.

He wasn't built for this. He was built for quiet. For safety. He was built for laughter and for jokes. He was built for smiling and fighting with the law on his side, not fighting with cracked bones poking from his skin. 

He turned, his back arching up to avoid the bruises on his back and falling back down to relieve the pressure on his ribs. No matter where he shifted he was bound to feel an injury, it was just a matter of which hurt the most at that particular moment. At this one, he was pretty sure his entire body was on fire. No where to go. No relief to be had. He crumbled onto his side and forced the tears to halt in his throat. He needed to keep his tears, he refused to give his tormentors anymore of himself. 

Blood, sweat, his sanity, but not his tears. Those were his. The last shred of humanity he knew he had left. As small as it was. He clung to it. Clutching it in his hand like a shiny ribbon. If he ever made it home. If he lived. That's when he would let go. Give up the last part of himself and sink into the nothingness he longed for now. It was something to hope for when he didn't have anything else.

~*~*

(Two weeks earlier)

“...after three months of testimony the trial of Wilson Fisk has gone to the jury.” A reporter with red hair and a serious expression said from their (sad) used television they had set up in the corner of the law offices of Nelson and Murdock to watch the conclusion of the trial. Her manicured hand clenched around the microphone as she spoke. “The defense team rested after only four days and much to the disappointment of many in the court room, Mr. Fisk never took the stand in his own defense. Mr. Fisk sat stoic during the proceedings and never once reacted to the evidence the Prosecution presented.”

The screen cut to the reporters in the newsroom, a man in his late forties with graying hair peppering his temple and a cool smile sat on the right while a woman in her early thirties with deep dark skin and a sharp look to her chocolate colored eyes sat on the left. 

“Was there any indication on how the jury was swayed?” The male reporter asked. His tone measured by years on the job. Nothing shocked or shook him anymore, his demeanor read. Aliens, henchmen, corporate corruption... nothing.

“Well Jim, I have to say...” The screen blacked out. Foggy glanced at Karen who was holding the remote pointedly at the TV. Her arm was tense like she wanted to throw the plastic against the far wall or maybe at the TV itself. Instead she tossed it to her desk in front of her.

“Nope,” Karen popped the “P” for no other reason then it felt right because nothing else did in that moment. “I just... Why did we... He is. Fisk is standing there. Right there in cuffs acting like... And he, he's going to...” Her head tilted to the side, blonde hair falling gently over her shoulder in a curtain that covered half her face. Shadowed her expression a little but Foggy knew what she was feeling. They all did. Her bottom lip was chewed up, spots of blood blooming in the cracked lines. She sighed, the resignation already beginning. “The asshole that almost destroyed this city is going to walk.”

Foggy shook his head, even though he had a sinking feeling she was right, “We don't know that. Not yet. The jury hasn't returned a verdict.” Matt tensed at his side. The heat of emotion rolling off him in tight waves. “Come on guys,” he grinned, or tried to, “let's have a little faith in the justice system I spent way too much time losing sleep over and spent way too much money in Monster drinks for in college.” 

He voice sounded fake even to him, so he knew Matt must be cringing even worse from listening to it. But, damn it, optimism was all he had. He knew the court system was flawed. He knew that innocent men went to jail and guilty walked free, but he couldn't dwell on that or... or he would sink. The quicksand was all around him and it would be so easy to give in and spill under, easy but not his style. 

His style was to believe in the good and if that fell to shit, then deal with the bad. It was how he got through everything. One of them had to stay positive. 

Matt was always just brushing his freaky cool senses against the line of darkness, reaching through the curtain of _too much_ , too much _pain_ and _evil_ and his own anger. His best friend tried to keep that from Karen and himself. He enveloped himself in the cape of everything unsavory to give others the light and the comfort of safety. He was too good, Foggy often thought, he gave too much of himself. But that was Matt. The weight of the world was never that much of a burden if he knew his family was safe. 

Foggy was thankful he was counted among Matt's family. It made him feel special. It always had, even from that first day at Columbia. It was like he was chosen, like he was given a gift, precious and gorgeous. And he wasn't always as careful with that gift as he promised himself he would be. The fight about Matt's super senses and nightly activities had chipped it, but Foggy was working on smoothing out that jagged edge. He had to. He needed Matt and he hoped Matt needed him, just a little.

Karen had her own broken parts. Sometimes when she doesn't think anyone was watching, she would show just how damaged all this has made her. Foggy wondered a lot about what she was like before. Before death and conspiracies and anger and morally bankrupt people crawled into her life like demons from the depths of hell. He liked to hold an image of her laughing freely and without haunted eyes in his heart. He liked to think that was how she was. He loved to think that she would be like that again. Eventually. 

Until then, he held the torch of “everything's going to be alright guys, come on” in his hand. And everyday he made sure it was lit and bright and easily found by both the blind and those with sight. It was his role in this twisted. tragic play. And a part of him always did want to be an actor. Sighing dramatically, in another life he would have been a kickass actor.

Clearing his throat, Foggy forced his body to relax and slung an arm around Matt's shoulders, “I say we drink the eel! Let's fill ourselves with the power of the mighty eel. Embrace their eel-iness.”

Matt dipped his head to his chest but he couldn't quite hide his exasperated smile, “Foggy...” 

His hand slid through Matt's soft reddish hair, ruffling the thick strands. “I'm taking that as a yes, Murdock.” Matt merely shook his head slowly but didn't say no. “Karen, come on, you know you want it.” His left eyebrow lifted and he turned his most charming smile her way. “Come with us, Miss Page,” he hissed seductively, “Follow us to the eel.”

Her mouth twitched and she coughed on a laugh, “You are not normal, Foggy.”

“The nickname didn't give that away?” He moved through the office gathering their coats, “Do I look normal?” Matt opened his mouth and Foggy threw his coat at his face before he could say anything. Matt chuckled. “Not a word Matthew. It's a figure of speech and you know it.” After helping Karen into her jacket, he clapped his hands together, “Now lets go get hammered!”

~*~*

“Ummph,” he clutched his stomach as the boot kicked one of the fresher bruises. He blinked up at the man that hovered over him grinning like the mad man he was. 

“Now Mr. Nelson,” he cracked his knuckles, because what henchmen didn't do that. “Where were we?” He saw the glint of metal, shiny as it caught the little light there was in the room. The muscled man leaned close, hot breath ghosting across his face. Foggy wanted to turn away from the stench of bad breath. But turning away didn't do him any good. Not with this guy. He liked being close. He liked watching the blood coat his victims skin. He loved playing in the pain of others. He enjoyed his job in a way that sickened Foggy. “No answer?” Mocking voice lit with an accent Foggy's muddled brain couldn't place. And frankly he didn't care. “I'm sure we can jog your memory...”

Foggy tried to steel himself for the next round of whatever was about to happen. He wasn't ready. And the screams that ripped from his gut were the worse ones yet.

And still no one heard.

Still no one came.

Alone.

At least he passed out quicker this time. Maybe someone was listening. They gave him sweet relief for a moment. Foggy welcomed it.

~*~*

(One Week Earlier)

The world was back on edge. Fisk grinned into the cameras, “It's always wonderful when the system works.” His hulking figure filled up the screen and made Foggy's skin crawl. “These allegations were difficult to live through. Corruption in the law force was an issue that clouded this city with suspicion and unfortunately those in places of power decided to use me as a scapegoat.” His calm, cold smile did nothing to make him seem like anything other than what he really was, which was the embodiment of evil. “I'm relieved that the jury of my peers could see through the falsities and get to the truth.”

“He paid them off,” Foggy muttered into this drink. “Or he threatened one or more of their family members.” He pushed a tired hand through his hair. “Matt?”

His business partner's hand was white, fisted tightly on the cane he didn't really need. “He's going to come for me.” Ice chips were warmer than that statement. “He'll come after us all. I'm going to have to get to him first.” Foggy opened his mouth. “Foggy don't.” Matt turned his head toward him. His eyes were hidden behind glasses, but his emotions were naked on his face. More than anger, more than resolve, more than fear, more. _So much more_. Foggy wanted to run his hands over his cheeks to loosen the tightness in his features, he curled his fingers into his palms instead. “I have to do this.”

Of course he did. Foggy swallowed the sigh, the plea, the panic. This was who Matt was. He was the man in the mask, the devil of Hell's Kitchen, Daredevil, savor of the downtrodden. The man that he was so happy to have in his life. 

Foggy clapped his hand on his shoulder, “I know, buddy.” He pulled him into a one armed hug, not enough but all he allowed himself. “Be careful. Be a hero.”

Matt's smile is tight, his nod terse, “I will Foggy. Just,” he stopped, got up from the stool, “Get home. Be watchful. I'll call you when I get home to make sure you're safe.”

Foggy laughed even though he didn't feel like it, but he had to hold that torch, “Yeah, man, no problem. I mean you know if anyone took me they would send me back, immediately regretting the decision, cause I don't know if you know this or not, but I can be annoying when I want to be.” He pushed a flimsy smile to his lips, Matt didn't even try. He sighed. “I'll be fine Matt. No need to worry about me. Leave the worrying _to_ me. That's _my_ super power.”

“I'm always going to worry about you,” thick emotion layered his words. Heavy in the air, like a living breathing entity. Both felt it, neither acknowledged it. “And Karen. And Claire. And...”

“The whole damn world.” Foggy stood up and gripped his shoulder again. “You don't have to save the planet, Matt. That's not your responsibility.” Matt opened his mouth and Foggy shook his head, “It isn't. But you have this need to try and that's pretty fucking amazing. Just remember that all of us, we know the dangers of this city. I love it, but damn, I'm not stupid. I may not be a ninja, but I'm not completely helpless either.” He smiled tiredly. “I can hold my own.” Matt nodded. Foggy leaned in again. “Seriously Matt, don't worry about me and take care of yourself.”

Matt looked like he wanted to say something else, but then stopped himself, nodded his head again and ran out of the bar. Foggy sighed, turning back to his drink, with a shaky hand he gripped the glass and drank it all in one swallow. Flinging some bills onto the wood, he waved to Josie and left the warmth of his safe place to enter the cold night.

Two hours later he would be taken from his bed by men he didn't have a chance to fight. Two hours later he would be in a new hell with guys taking turns beating him with whatever was on hand and some things that just seemed to appear. Two hours later he would begin to beg. It was such a short time really.


	2. Little Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so very unedited. This warning should be in red, I feel like it should be in red. Please forgive all mistakes. I'm sure I will find them all when I look this over again. Like the last chapter actually.

~*~*

(That first night)

At first, Foggy was nervous. He was being forcibly pushed this way and that by men he couldn't see since they wrapped a smelly cloth around his head to ensure he was completely disoriented. They talked over him, around him in a language he didn't know. It sounded German, maybe? Who the hell knew? He just knew he didn't know the words. He strained to get his mind working, it was like revving up his first car, slow and shoddy at best, just praying it would get him somewhere. His insides quaked a little but he didn't really believe what was happening. Maybe that's what saved him those first tense moments. His belief that it was a dream. It wasn't real. No way. Uh uh, not even a possibility. This couldn't be his life.

The guy on his right, Foggy named him _McGrouchy Fuck_ because he growled more than he talked, pulled hard on his arm, yanking him toward him as his partner, forever known as _Sir Greasy hands_ \- because his palms felt like an oil slick, let go. There was a sound like metal sliding against metal, some clicking, a loud whoosh then nothing. 

“In,” McGrouchy Fuck pushed him forward. Foggy went almost head first into the wall. A half second before his nose could be introduced to the solid surface, McGrouchy Fuck pulled him back. His thick fingers tightened on his arm to the point of pain. Foggy opened his mouth letting out a barely audible gasp. Hot breath brushed against his ear, “Oops.” 

The next time he was shoved, he made it through the opening, his feet tipping over themselves until he landed with a soft thump to the hard floor. The footsteps of his kidnappers came closer and removed the cloth from his head. His eyes squinted against the light coming from the entry way. Both men stood backlit and huge. Foggy was sure their biceps were bigger than his neck and head and perhaps his torso. One of them raised his fist and connected with his jaw. 

Foggy didn't see anything after that.

~*~*

Waking up was the worst. The pain never ease up on him, no it slammed him full force like a sledgehammer to...well _everything_. Foggy blinked one eye open, running his tongue along his teeth. McGouchy Fuck focused on his upper body this time. He wasn't shy about really getting into his job. The small blade covered with blood was that bastard's favorite sight. Foggy hissed as his tongue jabbed at a sore spot. He chipped a tooth on the left side of his mouth. He didn't know if that was from clenching his jaw together during the session or it was _from_ the session. 

That's what they called the bouts of torment. Or at least that's what Foggy thought the assholes called them. The only time the men spoke English was when they were torturing him. Foggy's started to pick up some of the words early on. Placing them in context. The part of him that still functioned with semi-clarity (and that part was diminishing by the minute) reasoned that maybe if he learned their language he could make a plan. Save himself.

Get the fuck out of here. 

Before there was nothing left to save.

He feared there was nothing left now.

Foggy cradled his side with his arm and scooted over to his wall. It's the one that was closest to the water. It was the one closest to freedom. 

It took him longer this time. It's taken him a little longer to reach the solid metal with each session. A little longer and a lot harder to force himself to do it. He does it though. Out of breath, in pain, barely holding onto his regained consciousness, he always made it. He didn't sit up, instead choosing to lay against it. This was his form of an ice pack. Cold but not cold enough. _It would have to do_ , he thought and closed his eyes.

_“Don't give up,” Matt's voice whispered in his ear. “Come on man, you've never been a quitter. Remember how many times you struck out with Marci? But you never gave up.” Matt looked in his direction earnestly (because even in his crazy fantasies Matt never looked him in the eye). “You have never given up on me before. Don't start now.”_

_Foggy groaned. “Shut up, Matt. You _aren't_ coming. If you were. If you were, you would have been here by now. You _should_ have been here by now.” Tears burnt his eyes, he held onto them again. “Where are you? You promised me that you would always come for me.”_

_”Looking,” his friend touched the bruises on his cheek. “I'm trying my damnest to find you. I _am_ coming. Foggy you just... You have to trust me. Please.”_

_“How can I trust you?”_ He opened his eyes and choked at the empty room. “You aren't even real.”

Something wet rolled down his cheek over the spot phantom Matt touched. Foggy tried to convince himself it was sweat. He knew it was another rip in the fabric of his sanity and hope.

~*~*

(The first night)

The first hour passed and with it some of delusion that _this wasn't actually fucking happening_ , Foggy started thinking. He felt around his surroundings, taking in everything. Detailing, cataloging, filing it away. It was all going to resolved soon anyway. In no time he would be back in his room grumbling to Matt about how long it took him and that he owed him a beer, no _twenty_ , for having to wait. 

The room, wasn't normal, it wasn't steady. The floor under him rocked rhythmically. Side to side, sometimes easy, other times it cause Foggy to lurch a little. The walls were completely metal, with large rivets running vertically in different places. The pieces fit together in his mind pretty quickly coming up with a picture of where exactly, well not exactly _exactly_ he was- a boat. Of some sort. He couldn't tell the size or anything beyond the space he occupied. His captors made sure of that.

His head still pulsed from the swift blow he received. He lifting his hand to touch gingerly. A knot, a nice size one too, had formed and was still slightly bleeding. Foggy hissed through his teeth. He's never been a fan of blood, especially his own. He rubbed his hand over his clothes. By the grace of God, he had fallen into bed still in his business suit. Getting rescued in his boxers would have been a level of embarrassment he wasn't sure he could handle. Residue of his blood remained on his palm causing him to gag slightly. He turned away breathing quickly through his mouth and nose to calm the urge to vomit. 

It worked enough, not great, but enough. To get his mind off the sticky substance on his fingers he went back to observing what he could without much light to guide him. Actually “without much light” was a gross over statement, a sliver from around the thick door was it. There were no windows in the room. It really was a metal box.

A cage without bars. 

Foggy didn't know how long he was in there, walking in circles, gathering information, wishing he had half the super hearing sense Matt did. It was long enough to go a little stir crazy. It was long enough to start imagining all sorts of horrific scenarios involving various instruments of torture. His always overactive mind jumped through the pictures he had seen in books and he felt the blood drain from his head, making him woozy. 

Why oh why had he taken Medieval History in college? Those sick fuckers came up with some truly inventive and extremely sickening ways to get people to talk. What if this was Vlad the Impaler's descendant? Or what if the stories were true and he was really Dracula and not just an inspiration? God, he could be a prisoner of Vlad! Oh he so didn't want to be impaled! He had a trial to prepare for, damn it. His eyes got wide and he cocked his head to the side a la Matt and _listened_. Nope, couldn't hear a thing.

So McGrouchy Fuck and Sir Greasy Hands were Vlad's henchmen. This night keeps getting better and better. Dracula. 

Part of him wished he could brush this off as insane thoughts, which they were, but honestly, not out of the realm of possibility either. In fact nothing was. In the past four years a lot of shit had gone down. _A lot of shit, people!!!_

Aliens, check. Norse Gods, check. Blind vigilantes that use four senses and ninja skills taught to them by creepy old men, done and done. So Vlad from the grave to impale and dine and generally be atrocious, it could happen. Man he hoped it hadn't happened. 

By hour four? Five? Twelve?, Foggy was practically jumping out of his own skin, pacing the floor aggressively, if you could pace the floor with aggression. He had pounded on the door, screaming to anyone that would listen. Demanding someone to come. _This was ridiculous. Were they really going leave him alone? That was some weak ass torture. Really guys F-._

Only it wasn't. It was pretty brilliant actually. The people behind this, they must have known. They must have known him. They must have studied what would make him the most uneasy to start with and bingo, winner-winner chicken dinner. It was a perfect way to make him want to talk about anything...

The darkness of the room, the quiet, the lack of contact, the waiting was killing him. He was a social person by nature. He genuinely _liked_ people. And even if he didn't like that person for whatever reason, he needed the noise of debate or you know, snark. He lived on words. It was his money maker, literally. His quick wit was what he relied on in every situation. It got him through so much. 

He needed it to survive.

It was his safety blanket.

It was being ripped from his hands. 

Foggy was already starting to lose himself.

~*~*

“You know,” Greasy Hands this time, he thought boorishly. “You sing sometimes when you are really,” he paused pretending to find the right word. His eyes get big as if just coming up with one, “uncomfortable.”

“Do I?” Foggy can barely get the words out anymore. Sometimes it felt like they got caught on a tooth or just decided to get really cozy in his throat. Those were rough moments. “Am I good?”

Greasy Hands ran his fingers across his temple in a gesture that mimic kindness. Foggy knew how cruel he really was. “Very.” Foggy flinched. “Mr. Nelson, you are very good. I can just imagine what Daredevil thinks of your songs.”

Pale and weak, but not done protecting himself, he pushed away from Greasy Hands, “Wh-wh-why do-n-n-” He curled his hands into fists. “Why don't yo-you ask him you-your-yourself?”

“Mmm,” Greasy Hands tapped his chin. “I will. Why don't you sing for me?”

“I, I, I, don't ta-ak-ake requests.”

Greasy Hands stood up and grinned down at him, “You will sing. They all do.” He turned as he reached the door, “Until then, how about I sing for you,” Foggy felt his insides freeze.

“dieses kleine Licht von mir,  
ich werde es leuchten lassen“

~*~*

(Three months ago)

“You never told me that,“ Karen said with a smile. “It's sweet that you have that.”

Foggy hung his head. “I can still hear my grandma humming and singing it when the monsters under the bed started to really freak me out. It's kinda embarrassing that it still works. I don't have any idea why either, but when I need to calm down I just start.” He looked at her over his glass. “I don't do it unless I'm alone normally.” He touched her shoulder, her clouded expression calling out to him. “You know I could make an exception in your case, if you wanted.” He licked his lips. “It might help you.”

“I,” she shook her hair back. “I don't think...”

“This little light of mine,  
I'm going to let it shine...” He looked over at her pointedly.

She sighed, “This little light of mine,  
“I'm going to let it shine,” Karen laughed a little.

Together they sang the rest. It calmed both down. By the end both were grinning more than either of them thought they could. Foggy mentally counted it as a win for the greater good.

~*~*

“dieses kleine Licht von mir,  
ich werde es leuchten lassen“

Foggy wanted to die even more. 

_This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine_

“lass es leuchten, lass es leuchten, lass es leuchten”

_Let it shine, Let it shine, Let it shine..._

Greasy Hands did what _he_ loved to do. No bloody knives for him. No his methods were worse. So much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this. :) I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. *fingers crossed*


	3. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all that have read this. I'm shocked anyone has. Thank you for the Kudos and the comments. You all are awesome.
> 
> Once again unedited. Sorry!

~*~*

Getting rescued was done with as little fanfare as possible. Or maybe there were explosions and hellfire, Foggy couldn't be sure. It could have included dancing women in showgirls outfits and he wouldn't have known.

Because he didn't know the end of his torment was within reach.

He didn't know anything except that his body couldn't take much more of this and that he was on the verge of breaking. They wanted him to sing, he'd be a fucking canary soon. He would tell them anything. He would sell his soul to the devil himself if it meant he could finally have relief. Without reading the contract.

The door swung open to his room and he instinctively turned away. It was McGrouchy Fuck's turn... or was that the last time? He prayed it wasn't Sir Greasy Hands. _Please God not him._ It took him a moment to realize someone was talking. The roaring in his head blocked out most of the sound.

“...Getting you to a hospital!”

Foggy fought against the arms gathering him up. He screamed and scratched at the man in a leather suit. “N-n-no.” If they were taking him anywhere, he knew that would be the end of him. “N-n-n-no!”

“Please. You need help.”

“I ne-ne-ne-need, Ma-a-att.” Foggy paused in his attack and started to freak out. He'd never said Matt's name before. Oh God. They knew now. They _knew_. “Pl-pl-plea-please.” He sagged, resigned, “It's n-n-n-not his f-f-fault. N-n-n-not hi-hi-hi-his fault. M-mine.”

The hands on his arms moved into his hair. Gently. He tensed and wanted to vomit. _Sir Greasy Hands_. He finally confessed to him. _“You will sing. They all do.”_ Tears welled up inside him. Some friend he turned out to be.

“Oh, Foggy. How can you believe that?” The man holding him said.

He wanted to die.

He got a black hole instead. 

It was a trade off he accepted.

~*~*

Softness. 

He was surrounded by softness.

Too soft. It hurt. Everything hurt. He didn't want to open his eyes. If they changed locations, if they put him somewhere _soft_ he could only imagine the pain would increase to a level not even the Hulk would be able to withstand. Foggy tried to breathe evenly and not give way to the panic creeping up his spine, but it was difficult when everything was starting to come back. Fragments of words, not German, no accents except for the good old New York ones, new people. His ears unclogged enough that he could hear bits of the conversation and his mind was functioning somewhat so he could understand. 

“...Hypothermia. And about a million other things they I can't even begin to heal...” 

“Claire.” A gruff voice. Some part of Foggy recognized but couldn't place. “Please.”

A sigh. “I'll try.”

“That's all I ask.”

Foggy slipped back into unconsciousness again.

~*~*

“...needs a hospital.” 

Another voice. Female again. Were there female kidnappers? He knew from the television and from his own family to never underestimate a woman in any aspect of life. Look at the Black Widow. She could probably take down an entire army on her own (hell she might have) and not break a sweat. 

“Foggy.” He tensed slightly, biting back a whimper of fear. _Foggy_. They never called him that. It was _Mr. Nelson_ always. Had he unknowingly given them information? Oh God, had he betrayed Matt? “He needs more than this _Claire_ can give him.”

“Karen,” that same gruff voice from before, “I can't take him to a hospital.”

“Why exactly? It's not like they are going to figure anything out about you.” The words were spoken with just barely contained venom, Foggy swallowed. “Stop being selfish. He,” a broken sob, “It's bad.”

Silence stretched out and Foggy assumed he had slipped back under when a quiet, also broken voice replied.

“I'm not being selfish,” tears. It sounded like tears were making the words too thick to say. “I just know Foggy wouldn't want to go to the hospital right now.”

“Oh how do you know that?”

Another pause, “He told me. Right before he told me that it wasn't my fault.”

Quiet. He was used to the quiet now. It still made him itch and want to climb the walls but he was used to it.

“You,” another sob, muffled this time. “You said he was barely conscious when you found him.”

“I don't think he knew he was actually talking to me,” sighing, deep and with so much guilt he could feel it. “It was more like a conversation he was having with... I don't know. But when I told him I was going to take him to the hospital, he started...reacting. Badly. Karen. I know how bad this is,” he heard movement. “I might not be able to see it, but I know. I know that he needs a hospital, I know he's,” Foggy wanted to open his eyes for the first time until he continued, “He was dying.”

 _Still am_ , Foggy thought before slipping again.

~*~*

So bright. The light coming from everywhere was enough to make him groan out loud. It was like waking up from a really, _really_ horrible hangover. Or maybe a thousand really horrible hangovers. Foggy blinked several times hoping the light would dull to the point where he could process his new surroundings. 

“Welcome back.” Foggy froze, turning his head toward the voice. A beautiful woman smiled tiredly at him. He knew her, but at the same time, he didn't. His thoughts were so confused. “Foggy, breathe.” He was, wasn't he? “You have to slow down or you're going to pass out again.” She placed a gloved hand on his chest. “In and out. Try to match your breathing with mine.” He did. Slowly inhaling and exhaling in time with her's. The world, which he hadn't realized had gone sideways, started to right itself. “That's it.” She spoke like she was was calming a frightened child, soothing down his panic. “You're doing great. Keep going.”

In.

Out.

In. 

Out.

The brightness ebbed away to a manageable level and Foggy looked around him. Nothing was what he was used to, but he knew he had been here before. Familiar and yet foreign. Weird.

“Whe-wher-where a-a-am I?” His voice. He didn't recognize his own voice. So gravelly and it hurt to speak. Then again it hurt to exist. “Wh-wh-who are y-y-y-you?”

The pretty woman at his side, dressed in plain blue scrubs that were stained with blood and other stuff Foggy didn't want to examine too closely, smiled tightly, “Claire.” She pulled her gloves off and ran a hand through her hair. “We've met before.” He nodded. He wasn't surprised. He just couldn't seem to connect the dots. Reality wasn't real to him at the moment. “As for where we are, we should be in a hospital where other professionals beside myself could help you, but we're not,” she hastened to say, he must have started hyperventilating again. “We're at Matt's apartment.”

_Matt._

_Matt's apartment._

_Safe_

He was safe.

“G-g-goo-good,” Foggy whispered, “how l-l-l-long?”

“Three weeks,” she responded.

Foggy nodded slightly before the black hole swallowed him up again.

~*~*

Each time he opened his eyes, it got easier. The light didn't make him want to rip out his eyeballs or hide away from it anymore. The bed was still too soft though. After only knowing the hard floor, it was like resting on fluff. It was difficult to get comfortable while awake because of that and the pain.

Claire must have taken some killer pain medicines from the hospital, but it wasn't enough to eliminate all of agony that seemed to be fused with his very bones. Foggy figured he shouldn't complain. He lived. Miracle of all miracles, he lived. Except now he was forced to think. Well think as well as he could through the fog of drugs anyway. 

Flashes of everything he went through sailed through his mind. Blood, screams, laughter cruelly taunting him, slices to his skin, tortures fracturing his mind. His heart started racing. His song used against him. Tears filled his eyes. He lived. He could finally let go...

A knock brought him out of his thoughts and he glanced at the door. Matt stood uneasily in the doorway. His hair sticking up in all directions, his face gaunt and pale, his clothes were hanging in ways that suggested he hadn't been eating right. Foggy felt anger build in his heart. Not at Matt, but at himself. If he hadn't gotten kidnapped, if he had been smarter, or stronger, or braver, or _better_ , his best friend wouldn't look like he danced with death and barely finished the song. Matt needed him to be that torch of reassurance and he let him down. He was worthless.

“Foggy,” Matt started. It was like he was unsure of what he should do. _Join the club buddy._ Come in and sit down or stay away and pray. He's probably praying, has been praying, the entire time. “I,” his unseeing eyes move over where he is laying. “Do you need anything?”

_A time machine._

“No,” he whispered instead. 

Matt tilted his head. “Are you,” he stopped whatever he was going to say and walked decisively over to the bed. His hands hovered over Foggy's face for a second, his fingers flexing then they settled in his hair at his temple. For a moment, it wasn't Matt's hands Foggy felt. Bile rose quickly in his throat and he turned away from Matt retching violently. “I'm sorry,” Matt gasped as he pulled completely away. “I shouldn't have...”

Foggy wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't stop the nausea from coming, nor could he stop the images from invading his mind. That man's hands on him, play acting tender all the while tearing Foggy up emotionally. Suddenly all he wanted was a shower. He needed a shower. 

_Clean. I need to be clean._

He wanted to scrub his skin off, remove anything that was touched. He tried to get up from the bed, get to the bathroom. Matt's hands pushed him back and he flinched. A scream just barely swallowed.

Matt jumped from him. He curled into a miserable ball. “Foggy. I...”

“Sh-sh-sh-shower,” Foggy cut him off. “N-n-need to be cl-cl-cl-clea-clean.”

He didn't have to see Matt's face to know what was there. Guilt, anger, sadness, helplessness. Foggy knew those feelings all too well. Especially the anger. Foggy managed, with some guidance from Matt (guidance without touching), to make it to the bathroom. He turned the water jets to the hottest he could and let the spray beat down on him. It was the first time he had seen some of the marks left from his kidnappers. Cuts and bruises marred his skin, almost all of his skin, but the one that caught his eye the most was a branding on his left side near his hip. He remembered the smell of burning flesh, but he had no idea what they placed on his body. Until now. 

It was two D's interlocked. Daredevil.

A brand to mock daredevil forever on his skin. Foggy turned away, using the soap to clean what he could, even if it was only physically. He didn't touch the brand. He couldn't. He didn't want to feel the raised skin. 

His body was raw by the time he emerged from the shower. It wasn't enough. He worried nothing would be enough ever again. Foggy pointedly looked away from the mirror, staring at the wall as he dried off, taking his time so he wouldn't have to see Matt again. His friend must have entered the room at one point because on the toilet were some sweats and a gray t-shirt. He still felt sick about how he reacted to his best friend's touch, a touch he used to long for. Now the very thought of hands on him- 

Foggy swallowed roughly, realizing he couldn't stay in there forever. Gathering the clothes and some courage, he got dressed and exited the bathroom. He was both relieved and disappointed to see Matt wasn't there waiting for him. He walked gingerly over to the night stand, finding a hastily written note in Matt's horrible handwriting. 

_”Some pain pills Claire left. She said to make sure you take them. I'll be back later. I have some stuff I need to take care of. Foggy,"_ Whatever he started to write he crossed out at this point and continued with, _”Please get some rest. Try anyway.”_

Foggy contemplated not taking the medicine. Be stronger than the pain, but then the first real stab of it came through and that ridiculous notion went out the window. He fumbled the lid off and quickly swallowed two white pills. He sat on the edge of the bed, easing into the warmth of the covers, letting the medicine pull him under.

~*~*

_“You will sing. They all do.”_

_Hands touching his side, sliding over the bruises, lips near his ear._

_“Sing for me, Mr. Nelson. You are so very good.”_

Foggy awoke shaking. He gathered the blanket that had wrapped around his legs and rushed over to the corner of Matt's room closest to the window. He scratched at his skin. Nails scraping the feelings away, leaving streaks of blood in their wake. He curled the blanket tightly around him, trying hard not to break and not doing a very good job. At all.

~*~*

Matt found him just like that a hour later.


	4. One Step Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, I feel, must have multiple disclaimers: I know NOTHING about medical protocol and procedures. The drug I used was found on Wikipedia (ha, ha, and we know how reliable that is) when I typed in anxiety medicine. Helpfully I'm not too far off the mark. This chapter was a little rushed (and still not edited - really need to work on that) simply because I might not get to write much in the coming days. My work schedule is about to get crazy, but I do hope to post something early next week. Fingers crossed. I don't actually know if Claire is a trauma nurse, but I'm making her one. LOL
> 
> Once again thank you SO MUCH for the kudos and the comments. If I could physically hug you all that have taken the time to read this fiction I would- here is a virtual one since I can't ((hugs)).

Fear. 

Four letters. Small word. Large emotion. So large it felt like it was eating him alive. 

Foggy stared out the window of Matt's apartment, blurry eyed and stone still with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and bandages on his arms. Hours had passed since Matt had found him- still wearing that damned costume, stupid horns poke him under the chin when Matt was trying to calm him down-, on the floor practically catatonic. He wasn't aware of much in those moments, just the ballooning sense of wrong.

He was all wrong. Something was fundamentally wrong about his life- and he meant more than just the obvious. 

It took Matt several tries- and more than a few soothing words- to get him to move from his spot on the floor and each one was met with differing levels of resistance. Foggy knew that he was away from the boat he was on, where he suffered all those atrocities, but he couldn't shake the feeling that at any minute he would be back. That this was just a small reprieve. His mind's way of comforting a shattered soul. He was one tick tock of the clock away from being back, alone and so, so very _frightened_. 

He strained his ears to hear the conversation taking place in the next room. Claire was there in the living room with Matt. He had called her immediately after Foggy was able to breathe normally with him so close. Once the severe panic attack had past.

“Matt, I know I've said this before. I know that Karen has said this before.” She sighed, wearily. “He needs to be in a hospital. Not just for the physical injuries- which I can't stress enough are _extensive_ \- more than I think you can really appreciate, but the emotional ones as well. I'm a trauma nurse. I can do my best to fix the wounds on his skin, but the ones in his mind- I- I'm not trained for that.”

“I can help him,” Matt replied.

She softened her tone to a level Foggy almost couldn't hear, “I know you'll try Matt, but let's be honest, you aren't the poster child for mental stability. I mean for fuck's sake you are dressing up as a superhero every night to fight off some demon in you. That's not the healthiest way to handle your anger.”

“He told me-”

“He was delirious at the time!” She hissed. “And you said yourself he didn't really seem to know it was you he was talking to.” Her breath was coming out quicker the more passionately she spoke. “You love your friend right?”

“How can you ask that,” Matt was offended. Foggy was pained for him. 

“Then do what's right by him,” she said gently. “He needs more than I – we – can give him.” 

“What if something happens to him again,” Matt's voice- God he hated hearing the way it shook as he spoke- broke on his words. “When he is here, I can protect him.”

“Can you? Just hear me out,” she hastened her words again when Matt let out a sound of defiance. “Foggy isn't just dealing with the fever and the cuts and the bruises and the other stuff that you are used to when you get hurt, he's also dealing with the very real bad guys in his head.” A pause- long and filled with feeling. “I know what that's like. Do _not_ make that face, Matthew Murdock! I don't blame you. What happened to me was done by men who were just horrible people, but my experience- it doesn't come close to what that man in there faced. You rescued me before anything really bad could happen and I still had to sleep with the lights on for weeks. I still to this day look around each corner multiple times to make sure no one is there waiting.” Foggy felt sick. He wanted to stop listening but he couldn't. “Those three weeks of pure hell for _him_ make my time look easy.”

“I failed him,” Matt whispered. 

_God no_ , Foggy wailed in his head. Damn him and his ability to feel guilty about everything. _You didn't fail me! You saved me. You helped me when I was alone and all I had were the memories of us to give me something to hold onto. You kept me from giving up when that would have been so simple to do. I always knew deep inside you would find me. And you did._

Claire sighed once more, “I don't think he thinks you failed him. From what little I could understand while he was in and out of consciousness, he believes wholeheartedly you are his hero. I- I think he thinks he let you down more than anything.”

_Yes! Exactly. My fault. I should have been more aware. I should have been better. I should have fought harder. It's my fault!_

Matt scoffed, “That's ridiculous! How could he ever think that he could let _me_ down?”

“Sometimes feelings aren't logical and _are_ ridiculous.” Bittersweet humor laced her next sentence, “You should know that better than anyone, Oh King of Masochistic tendencies.”

Foggy tuned them out completely after that. Focusing solely on the world outside Matt's window. The lights on the billboard (God that thing really was _awful_ ) blinked colors across the street. Foggy watched people walk, stop, talk, laugh- he felt so disconnected from them. Was he ever that free? Would he be that again if he was? 

He couldn't imagine he would. He couldn't see himself that way anymore. He couldn't envision himself _happy_ but he would try because he knew that's what was needed of him. He knew that's what Matt needed of him. The conversation Matt had with Claire proved that to him.

A torch. Bright enough to even attract the blind.

~*~*

Matt came back in the bedroom. His face a warring contradiction of thoughts. He looked miserable. That was one thing he should never be with Foggy.

“I'll g-go.”

His best friend took a half a step forward, probably to touch him, then stopped, remembering how he reacted the last time. “I'll tell Claire.” 

~*~*

Matt went with him to the hospital. He stayed by his side, tension making Matt's body tight. Foggy touched his shoulder briefly – all he could handle and even that made his insides quake- to let him know he would be okay. Matt turned his head in his direction a smile ghosting over his features, it was fake. Both knew it. Both pretended it wasn't.

“I-I'll be okay,” he lied. They both knew the words were nothing but that and both pretended to be reassured by them. Foggy was led away by Claire a couple of minutes later. He turned toward Matt, watching his friend's hands tightened on his cane. So many emotions played across his face, Foggy found he couldn't even try to decipher them all. 

~*~*

They took his vitals. Looked over his injuries. Foggy tried to breathe evenly the entire time, but with every new touch he felt like he was being sliced open and exposed for all to see. The doctors and nurses were professional, working as quickly and painlessly as they could, but with every muffled gasp or sharp breath he wanted to hide. 

He did hide the branding. As much as he could. Foggy didn't want anyone to assume this was Daredevil's work or that he- that Matt- had anything to do with what happened to him. 

“...fever of a 104.3, some infection around the more poorly healed wounds, we'll need x-rays and possibly a CAT scan. Mr. Nelson,” he flinched and the doctor paused, “We'll need to take blood and get a urine sample. But first we need to get an IV in because you are extremely dehydrated and we need to get some antibiotics into your system to combat the infection of some of your wounds. It looks like some measures have been taken but it's not nearly sufficient.” The young doctor-the name he gave was Monroe- looked Foggy in the eye. His soft brown ones sad but trying not to show it. “I'll need to call the police. Are you up to giving a statement?”

Foggy shook his head forcibly, “No-o-o-o-o-o, P-p-p-pol-lic-e.”

Dr. Monroe hesitated then licked his lips, “We have to. It's the law and whoever did this deserves to be caught and thrown in jail.” Foggy kept shaking his head, his heart rate accelerated to the point he felt like he was having a heart attack. “Nurse Raines, get a diazepam syringe. We have to calm him down, hurry.”

The words being spoken around him sounded like they were talking underwater. Movement in the room was on slow motion in some places and hyper speed in others. Foggy couldn't focus on anything substantial. He felt like he was drowning. Short gasps of air. Nothing in his lungs. Black spots dancing and popping in his vision. _Need to go. Need to get out. Help, help me._ Screams were lost in his throat. 

He looked down just as the needle was being lowered to pierce his skin. The panic increased. He pushed at the hand on his arm. “No. N-no!” 

“Mr. Nelson, this will help.”

More pressure holding him down. He fought. He fought as hard as he could. It wasn't enough. He screamed as the needle went in. The last thing Foggy remembered was looking at the door, through the small window, seeing Matt pushing to get in. _I'm sorry,_ he thought as his eyes closed.

~*~*

For days, Foggy was- well foggy. He drifted on a cloud of confusion and drugs, opening his eyes only briefly, then sailing away. Nightmares played mutedly in his mind, but when he would rise up from the haze, they would be gone only leaving small traces behind. A ghost-like image for him to vaguely remember.

~*~*

In the distance he heard a steady beeping sound that got louder as the mist lifted from his mind. He moaned softly, using his senses to gain an idea of where he was. The smell pretty much gave it away quickly. No where smelled quite like a hospital. He cracked one eye open slightly, glancing around the room. The machines around him hummed with a constant vibration, his heartbeat was rhythmic and strong- that was comforting-, the television was low- so low Foggy originally thought it wasn't on at all.

The bed was hard and lumpy and the sheets scratched at his skin in a way that would have driven Matt bananas. There was a heavy something on his leg, making it nearly impossible to move. Foggy risked a glimpse down, relieved to see a mop of auburn hair. Matt. He would know that head anywhere.

Trapping the sigh in his throat, he continued to look around him. Claire stood at the foot of the bed, a chart in her hands, writing some notes. Even without seeing her face he could tell she was exhausted. Her shoulders were slumped and she rubbed at her eyes every couple of seconds to ward off the tiredness. 

“You l-l-l-look t-t-tir-ed.” He whispered. Matt jerked up immediately. Foggy sighed. He knew it would happen- fucking super hearing- but he wished it hadn't. Matt's warmth had felt nice and only made him a little twitchy. Hey was that progress? “Go b-b-b-bac-ck to s-s-slee-eep Mmm-att.”

“No,” Matt shook his head, biting back a yawn. “I'm good.”

Claire flipped the file shut, “I am tired.” A small smile curled her lips. “I'm also happy to report your fever broke last night and the antibiotics are working so a lot of the infection is gone as well. Which is good, Matt was scaring the staff every time they came it to check on you. It really is at the point where I can get anything I want from anyone because they keep bribing me so they don't have to deal with him.”

“I'm not that bad,” Matt grumbled.

“Hmm,” Claire raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“You really were,” Karen said from the corner of the room. Foggy hadn't even noticed her. They gave each other a smile. “I'm glad you're back amongst the living. Work has been hellish without you. Matt is a jackass without you to keep him in check.”

“Hey!”

Foggy laughed softly, the sound foreign to his ears after so long. Turning to Claire, he asked, “Can I lee-ee-ee,” he screwed up his face and pushed the words through, “l-l-leave soon-n?”

Claire licked her lips, pulling the bottom one in between her teeth, “I can't answer that."

“If I'm d-d-doing bett-ter,” this stuttering was really starting to piss him off, “why can't I-I l-leav-ve?”

“The doctor,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “The doctor wants to have you speak with the police, but before that he wants you to speak with a trauma counselor.”

“I don't-”

“Foggy,” Matt leaned forward in his chair, his red tinted glasses blocking his eyes from the world. “I think it would be a good idea.” 

Karen nodded her head in agreement, which Foggy thought was a little hypocritical, seeing as she still hadn't received counseling from her own ordeal. He kept that opinion to himself. He felt betrayed though. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He didn't want to relive what had happened. He wanted to forget. To move on. To be _normal_ again. 

Glaring at a spot on the bed in front of him, he spoke with more clarity then he has since he got rescued. “No, I won't d-d-do it.” 

He looked imploringly at his friend, even though he knew such a look would be lost on him. Maybe if he put effort into it Matt would sense how much the very idea of going to see a counselor was preposterous. He just needed time. Time and ...Matt. And Karen. And work. And _normal_. He needed to get back to his life. That's what would fix him. 

“Listen,” Claire sat on the edge of the bed, “there is nothing wrong with talking to someone. You've been through-”

“No,” the word was as sharp as a knife coming out of his mouth with a ferocity even he was shocked by. 

“Foggy,” Karen started only to be cut off by Matt.

Matt cleared his throat, “Okay.” Claire and Karen both let out a sound of protest, “you both know he has the right to refuse.” Foggy relaxed instantly, he knew Matt would understand. “If he doesn't want to talk, then he doesn't have to.”

Claire's expression soured instantly, obviously not pleased, “Fine. I'll send the doctor in to check your vitals and if he thinks you're ready, I'll get the paperwork together for discharge.” She walked swiftly from the room, her back iron rod straight.

Karen wrung her hands in front of her. Her opinions on the subject clear as day from her body language. She kept opening and shutting her mouth, starting and stopping words from being spoken. Foggy shook his head, “My ch-ch-choice.”

She nodded once, “Alright.” It was clearly not alright. She turned toward Matt, glaring at him for not backing them up. Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth she rolled her shoulders and grinned falsely at Foggy. “I brought you something.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an old Gameboy. “I've been keeping it, hoping one of these days you would be awake to use it.”

“Whe-where?”

“It was in an old storage closet in my apartment. I remember when I told you about my insane obsession with _Zelda_ , you told me that you loved _Donkey Kong Country_. I found both games.” She placed the device on the meal tray with the two games next to it. “Hopefully you can leave soon, but if not at least you'll have something to kept your mind going.”

“Thank you,” he whispered without a single stutter. He grinned at her. “Thank you.”

Her face relaxed into a genuine smile, “You're welcome.” She walked over to the bed, weighing a decision in her mind, before finally sighing and tapping her finger next to his arm on the tray. “I'll come back later to check on you.” He knew what she needed. He steeled himself and tried. Foggy squeezed her hand once, pulling back as if he had been burnt. She swallowed roughly. “Enjoy the games.” Her eyes turned cold when she turned to Matt, “I'll see you at work.”

Matt bowed his head, as she walked out. Clearly feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. Foggy hated that part of that was his fault. “The i-i-imposs-ible h-ap-p-pened.”

“What's that?”

“Mmm-att Mmmurd-ock is un-pop-popul-lar with the l-l-ladies.”

Matt looked in his direction, a bemused smile on his face. “That happens more than you realize, Foggy. I'm not quite the ladies man you take me for.”

“Bullsh-sh-shit.”

A grin. A real one. Foggy felt like a king. This was his role, this was what he was built for, to be the light to this man's dark. His friend shrugged. “Maybe a little. But honestly there is only one person I care about being popular with at the moment and it isn't the ladies.”

He took a deep breath, “I'm sure you a-a-are. I'm s-s-sure you always h-h-have be-been.” The implications of those statements weren't lost on Foggy or he suspected Matt. _Yesterday, today and forever._

This was their dance. Flirting with the feelings that were _always_ there, just simmering under the surface. Never brave enough to act on them, but desperately wanting to. A joke that was only a joke because no action had been taken yet. Only now Foggy feared he would never be able to give into those very real feelings. And that made him sadder, madder and more frustrated than anything. Another thing taken from them.

Foggy's smile slipped as soon as he took a good look at Matt's appearance. Still gaunt, still pale, but now with the added bonus of bruises and a busted lip. His stomach twisted in a way he wasn't prepared. “F-f-fall taking o-o-out th-the t-t-trash?”

Without realizing it back when Matt first started being Daredevil- Devil of Hell's Kitchen- whatever the fuck he started as, they had a code. _Taking out the trash_ , public speak for doing some illegal vigilante shit that could end up with both of them in jail or- Foggy's heart stopped- dead somewhere. Fear slithered up his throat, coiling at the base, he forced it back down again.

“Last night,” Matt twisted the strap of his cane around his fist. His knuckles purple and unpleasant shade of red. “It's not bad.”

_But it wasn't good either._

He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to the question burning in his brain but some part of him needed to know. “Did you g-g-get al-all the ga-garbage from where I w-w-was s-s-staying?”

Matt tilted his head, listening to something only he and dogs could hear then he pulled off his glasses, staring just left of Foggy's ear. “Almost. Most of it.”

 _Almost._ He shouldn't have asked. And now he knew that some trash was still out there. Who didn't get caught? Who made it off the boat before Daredevil showed up to rescue him? He hoped that the two bastards that did this to him were paying for what they had done. But he didn't want to ask so he could have confirmation either way. It was the Schrodinger's cat principle in practice. Right now the ones he wanted caught more than anything were both out of the picture and hiding in the corners of every room at the same time. Heaven and hell.

“Foggy...”

“I'm o-o-okay.”

Another lie. One more to add to the pile of shit. A knock at the door stopped all other conversation between them.

“Mr. Nelson,” Dr. Monroe called as he walked in. “Let's see how you're doing.” He turned toward Matt, “Would you mind waiting outside.”

Matt looked at Foggy, who dropped his head to stare at the grainy white blanket over him. “Sure. I'll be right outside Foggy.”

He nodded at his friend, “I'm n-n-nodding.”

Matt placed his glasses back on his face, blocking the pained look in his eyes. Foggy had seen it anyway and he felt like his heart had been ripped apart. Who knew he could gain another scar without a blade touching his skin...


	5. Tell the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone that has taken the time out of their lives to read this: you are beautiful and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. To everyone that has kudos me: You Rock!! And to everyone that has written a comment: You are truly amazing and you make my day brighter.
> 
> This chapter has elements of the comic!universe in it. Not much and nothing that will effect anyone that hasn't read the comics, just a little Easter egg because I loved those parts.

~*~*

He stayed in the hospital for four days after he woke up. It was the longest four days of his life. All he wanted to do was go home and start his life without the feel of eyes on him continuously. It was like living in a glass bowl and it made him want to snap at everyone within range of him. By the time he was finally released, Foggy could have sworn the staff was actually cheering. He couldn't blame him. He was a lousy patient and Matt was like a pit bull ready to attack anyone he felt wasn't doing what needed to be done. Between the two of them, the poor medical staff had probably turned into alcoholics.

Matt offered to let him stay at his apartment, but that wasn't what Foggy wanted. Being at Matt's would just remind him that something had happened to him and _that_ would make the denial that he desperately needed harder to achieve. So he refused, facing the look of disappointment on his best friend's face with only a small amount of guilt. By small he meant, he went home and stress ate an eighth of a cheesecake that Karen had bought him. (A cheesecake that turned both Matt's and Karen's stomachs- it wasn't his fault they couldn't appreciate the wonderfulness of a bacon/limburger cheesecake- oh sweet heaven). 

The first sign that Foggy might have made a very erroneous decision coming back to his apartment alone- because he swore to both his friends he was _fine_ \- was when he couldn't enter his own bedroom. Cold sweat beaded against his hairline as he looked into the dimly lit room. His bed was still in disarray from that night so many weeks ago. The items on the bedside table gave proof to the events of the night his life had changed- a cheap lamp he had used since college was broke on the ground, his alarm clock was blinking 12:18 in bold red numbers and the glass of water he always took to bed with him was tipped over the contents long ago dried on the economy priced carpet that was put into his (and everyone else's) apartment.

He turned on his heel and walked as fast as he could to the living room. His heart echoed in his head, beating faster and harder than he thought should be possible. Foggy was vaguely aware that he needed to calm the fuck down or Matt would be flying through his window ready to do battle. He knew this, but trying to actually make it happen was proving difficult. He rubbed his sweaty palms against the cotton material of Matt's sweat pants (he was never getting these back- they were so incredibly, unnaturally soft- Foggy was claiming them as his own), staring at the couch as if it was a strange object he didn't recognize.

His vision clouded, everything becoming blurry. Stupidly it took him a minute to realize it was tears causing this to happen and not some latent brain injury. He sat on the edge of the couch, curling his hands into fists and pressed them to his eyes until he saw spots behind the lids. It was like a dam inside him burst open and he couldn't stop the flood anymore. Tears flowed in twin rivers down his face, his whole body shook and his throat tightened with the weight of everything that he still wasn't ready to confront. The tidal wave crashing into him seemed to never end; he could do nothing but ride it out.

The minutes he sat on the couch seemed endless. He wondered when time would become more than a concept to him again. Right now seconds, minutes, hours, days- it all twisted together turning into a mess of confusion. He slowly eased himself down onto the couch, pulling the afghan his aunt Patrice made for him over his shoulders, curling into the tightest ball he could. When the tears stopped he fell into an exhausted sleep. Exhausted but, unfortunately, not restful. Foggy woke up an hour later, disoriented and panicked. He wrapped himself in the blanket even tighter, trying to ward off the shivers that wouldn't stop. 

His dreams faded into black and white with slashes of red. Blood red. Foggy knew some of what he dreamed was what actually happened to him, but other stuff- there are scars on his body he doesn't remember getting- his mind supplied answers for those in the most horrific way possible. He leapt from the couch suddenly too nervous to sit down. His fingers started scratching at his skin again absentmindedly only stopping when he felt the bandages from before. 

He couldn't do this. This left a mark, left blood for his creepy best friend's nose to find. But he couldn't stay still and he also couldn't face going outside alone. That hurt him more than anything- well maybe not _more than anything_ \- but it was pretty fucking close. Foggy never felt unsafe in Hell's Kitchen. It was his home- true there were bad people- Fisk being an example of that- but there were also so many good people- Elena and Ben standing out in his mind – two beats one. On the flip side Fisk had a hand in both their deaths (directly killing Ben and orchestrating Elena's)- still though he was never scared to be on his own. Until now.

Now the bad seemed to outweigh the good by the ton. And that- for a guy that lived on being a naturally (and sometimes unnaturally) optimistic person- fucking sucked! Foggy felt like his identity had been systematically deleted leaving behind an empty shell. Hollow and weak. And every second it was being filled with things that he never wanted to be – terrified, lost, alone, _furious_.

He walked into the kitchen, reached under the sink and started pulling out cleaning supplies. The counter was lined with different bottles of all shapes and sizes, gloves and some rags. Grabbing the bleach, Foggy rolled his shoulders and started slowly disinfect his house and he hoped his mind.

Foggy Nelson could never be accused of being a clean freak, he was tidy yes- even more so after living with a roommate that couldn't see and could – fake - trip over a misplaced sock. Looking back on those years now he realized that the bastard was training him to be an improved roomy. Matt could be such a dick sometimes. Fuck him for being an adorable one that Foggy loved.

The point was he never turned to cleaning as a source of release. He was never one to stress clean or go through bouts where removing things from his closet equaled eliminating them from his mind. Never, until this very moment. The mindlessness of scrubbing a spot out of the counter or sweeping away dust from the corner made him feel like he was in control finally. It didn't matter that it was only over how clean his apartment was – because it was _something_.

His arms ached, his back was practically screaming from straining to get into tight places while still covered in healing cuts and bruises, and his mind was blissfully blank by the end. He was even able to enter his room, if only to pick up the literal pieces that night produced. He glanced out his (sparklingly clear) window just as the sun began it's ascent. The ball of orange wiped away any and all traces of darkness from the world below, making the city - _his_ city look like a place he could walk freely again. 

A little piece of himself, small as it was, dropped into the shell of his body in relief. 

~*~*

Going back to work was surreal. Nothing was different, but nothing was the same either. Nelson and Murdock, his home away from home. Stepping back into his office was like slipping through a time loop. His shabby desk was still littered with potential client files, his chipped coffee mug and little plastic toy dinosaurs that Matt and he used to entertain themselves with at Landman and Zack.

He expected his hand to shake like it had when he walked into his apartment, but he found himself, instead, calmed by the familiar scents and dodgy air conditioning. This was where he could do good and forget the bad. Foggy placed his battered brief case on the floor next to his desk and walked back into the main area, just looking around him. He was alone in the office, as it was barely six fifteen and normal business hours didn't start until eight, which meant neither Matt nor Karen should arrive until at least seven thirty. 

That gave him an hour. An hour he previously thought he would need to calm down, but now he realized it would give him a chance to learn what life has been like since he had been gone. He flipped through the papers on Karen's desk seeing notes written in neat script about meetings. Dates and times, names he didn't recognized. 

_Sam Wilson- 8:00 am- Sept 7th Will call back tomorrow at 10:00_

_Reporter called from station 10 again for an exclusive on Foggy's rescue. Politely told her to screw herself. Said she would call back tomorrow. Number 555-207-2486. Called phone company to have it blocked._

Foggy laughed softly. He looked at the next one. This one gave him pause. It wasn't written like the others. It was more like a personal note to herself. He shouldn't have read it. He did anyway.

_Dr. Leonard Samson. Could help Foggy? Call him tomorrow. Vet him._

He dropped the note as if it burned him. Didn't she listen to him? Why was she pushing this? He didn't want help from some stranger that would treat Foggy like a fucking number to be processed or worse like some broken glass that could be glued together with drugs. Why was it so hard to understand that he would be fine on his own? Fuck how many times did he have to say he just needed time! His hand tightened into a fist. He felt like punching something, or throwing something, or running away and hiding. 

It was funny how he almost forgot that there was something wrong with him. Well now that was shit. He pushed away from the desk and paced the length of the office. His mind and heart were racing, his body was shaking and his stomach twisted violently. He stopped mid step and swiftly moved toward the kitchenette area, gathering the cleaning supplies like he did at his apartment. Once again the scrubbing and sweeping, centered his mind to relieve the thoughts that were tearing him apart. 

Once his friends enter the office an hour later, the place was cleaner than it had ever been and Foggy was typing away on his laptop. The wave of stress and fear buried completely, locked away.

~*~*

It took three months of pretending nothing was amiss for Karen to break in the most spectacular way possible. He looked up just as she marched into his office, having just finished an email to a client. (His stuttering made phone conversations almost impossible so he left that to Matt). She stood cross armed in his doorway, hair swinging behind her in the ponytail she was wearing today.

“Have you been cleaning again?” Her lips were pressed together in a tight line. 

Foggy lowered his eyes. He had. This morning had been a bad one. Sleeping on the couch was hell on his back and the nightmares didn't stop just because he wasn't actually in his bed. His room had really become a place for him to store his clothes and not a damn thing more. His days had been placed on a scale from 1 to 10. One being - _hey no I wasn't kidnapped, tortured and mentally screwed with for weeks on end, whatcha talking about Willis_ (the denial was strong with this one) and ten being - _Oh fuck I'm worthless. I should have just let them kill me, why did I fight so hard just to deal with this shit and force the people I care about to deal with it as well?_

He would rank today an 8.5. He didn't want to kill himself. (There have been days like that – where he contemplated walking into traffic or wait in an alley for some tweaked out druggie looking for money and not caring about the consequences. He would never do it for two reasons: 1 – Matt would probably show up to stop the druggie before he could even get properly hassled and 2 – because he didn't want to go out like that. He was weak, but he didn't want to die cowardly and both those actions would be the cowards way out. Hell how he was thinking of doing it would put the blame squarely on someone else. Suicide by an unwilling person's hand. Nope he couldn't do that to someone else.) But Foggy also didn't want to be happy go lucky today either. 

Some days faking a smile was as easy as breathing. Others – like today – it was as hard as – well breathing easily. He still couldn't handle touching of any sort. Two days ago a client briefly grazed his arm in thanks for helping them and he nearly started crying. His stomach flipped so hard he had to run to the bathroom before he threw up on the person. Matt and Karen graciously covered for him, but he knew the strain of it all was starting to wear them down. He was wearing them down. 

He was no longer the source of comfort (his role), he had become the problem. A problem that wasn't worth the energy. Maybe today was more like a ten after all. 

“Yea-yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, his heart sinking. “Why?”

Karen's eyes filled with tears. She hadn't yet cried, but her blue eyes always filled with tears. “Foggy you need help.” The words were whispered, but to him they sounded like were shouted.

“I'm fi-fi-fi-fine,” he got up and paced the length of his office, careful to stay away from her.

“You're not,” the thickness of her voice let him know she wasn't swallowing the tears this time. “You're not. I'm worried about you. I'm-”

“Karen,” Matt came up behind her, his mouth tense. Foggy closed his eyes. “Stop.”

“No,” she stood her ground. “No, Matt. I'm sorry that I have to be the bitch here, but I love you too much to watch this any longer without saying anything. Foggy, we can tell you aren't eating or sleeping and this cleaning thing, while I'm sure the building cleaning crew loves it, isn't helping. You aren't dealing with what happened to you.” 

“St-top,” Foggy's vision blurred with water as his heart started pounding. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from shaking too much. His fists curled tightly at his sides. He turned and punched the wall, hearing the crack of plaster and feeling some sort of satisfaction. He wanted to do it again. He raised his fist, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his back. He flinched away turning to see that Matt had moved into the room ready to act, but it was Karen that touched him. “Pl-l-l-lease, Karen, st-t-t-top.”

“I can't,” her face was wet and blotchy from her sobbing, her head dropped and she shrugged. “I can't because you need me _not_ to stop. I know what it's like to live with your fears and let them eat you alive Foggy and I don't want that for you. You deserve better.” She glanced up at him, holding out a piece of paper. “His name is Doctor Leonard Samson. He's a really respected psychiatrist. I think you need to make an appointment with him.”

He looked at Matt standing by the opposite wall. His expression more haunted than it has been in a while, or rather it's been like that all along but he has been hiding it better. Foggy wilted inside, his heart breaking into a million pieces. Why hadn't he fucking died? They would have been better off without him than with this broken, useless version that they got back. He took the number from Karen with no intention of using it. He would just have to find a different way to get better and fast.

“Karen,” Matt said with a thin amount of calm, “Can I speak with you in private?”

She twisted around to face him, “Fine.”

They walked out of Foggy's office and into Matt's. The door shut and it didn't take long for the voices of his best friend's to start getting heated. The tension made his skin crawl. He dropped the paper with the number on it in the waste basket next to his desk. The muscles of his jaw hurt from clenching it so tight. Grabbing his briefcase he left the office without a word to them. He had cause enough trouble.

~*~* 

Later that night, he curled on the couch trying his hardest to push all the thoughts away. The bad thoughts. The thoughts that found him laying in a pool of blood, but finding sweet relief. His left hand started to scratch at the skin of his right wrist. Pulling at the flesh right above his pulse. A tapping at his window stopped everything inside him cold. He closed his eyes, praying to a God he hadn't in years. More tapping. Foggy kept still.

“Foggy.”

His eyes flew open and he stared at the figure shrouded in darkness and in red leather. His breath released in a loud whoosh. _Matt_. Getting up from the sofa he walked over to the window flipping the locks and pushing the panel up.

“Wh-wh-what are you do-do-ing here?” 

“I was in the neighborhood,” Matt turned his head blindly in his direction. A small playful smile pulled the corners of his lips up. Fake as it was, the gesture helped ease some of his wayward thoughts. “Can I come in?”

Foggy felt some more of the anxiety leave him, “Do y-y-you even n-need to ask?”

He moved out of the way, letting the Devil in. At least this devil could help him fight the ones in his psyche. He hoped. Matt smiled more easily, which looked slightly off in his superhero get-up. This was the first time he and Daredevil had met, well other than the few times Foggy had been really out of it. It was weird. Matt but not Matt, a stranger but not a stranger. He mentally sighed. When had his life gotten so complicated? He remembered fondly the times when the biggest threat to his well-being was Professor York. Oh what a _magnificent_ bastard he was? Foggy actually missed him right about now. Framing him for cheating was a torture he would endure twenty times over if it meant he could feel some sense of power back in his own life now.

Matt strutted through his tiny apartment with a natural grace that used to bug the fuck out of Foggy. He could never understand how a blind man could be so flipping _elegant_ navigating a space while Foggy had always had to work so hard to be semi graceful. Finding out about the heightened senses helped explain that one.

Foggy waited a minute or two for Matt to explain why he was lurking outside his window in full Daredevil garb. His friend took a seat on the couch never once saying anything. With a heavy sigh, he leaned against the island in his kitchen, “Are y-y-you always out-out-side my window?” _Guarding me out of guilt._ He didn't add that part.

“I told you I was in the neighborhood.”

“Gonna bar-row a c-c-c-cup of s-s-sugar?”

“Foggy...”

“Matty, p-p-p-please st-t-top with the bull-sh-sh-shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I n-n-need m-m-my honest f-f-f-friend right now.” Matt pushed up the cowl of his suit and looked as directly as he could into Foggy's eyes. “I'm n-n-not g-g-getting better am I?”

“No,” Matt replied, the tone of his voice rough. “No, you aren't buddy.” Foggy bent his head. The anxiety came back twice as strong as before. “Whatever you want to do, Foggy, whatever, I'll stand behind you.”

“Wh-why?” He spat, the anger feeding on his fear. “Be-be-because you f-f-f-feel guilty? Fuck Matty, I-I-I'm not worth that!”

Matt looked like he had slapped him, his jaw tightened and he was up in Foggy's personal space before he knew his friend was moving. Panic started flooding through his system warring with the anger and self-hatred. 

“I do feel guilty for what happened to you. It was my fault. But that's not why I will always been here for you.” His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “I'm here because Nelson and Murdock doesn't work without Nelson and _I_ don't work without you, Foggy. You are the best part of me. I would be lost without you.”

Foggy wanted to touch him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to be pulled into his arms. He settled for touching his wrist, pushing the unease aside for longer than he thought he could, before pulling back. His hand tingled from the extended contact. He missed being able to freely hold his friend. Or anyone.

“I will do whatever you want Foggy,” Matt continued, passionately. “All you have to do is tell me.”

“I-I-I don't w-w-want t-t-to feel like t-this any-m-more.” He whispered. “I want t-to b-be f-f-f-fixed.”

“Then we'll figure out a way to do that buddy,” he smiled a little shakily. 

“T-t-together?”

“Don't we do everything together?” Foggy nodded, telling Matt he had. The smile on his face firmed up at that. “We're going to get through this. _You_ will get through this because you are stronger than you know.”

Foggy didn't believe that. But right then, in his tiny kitchen with Matt in front of him, he wanted to. He wanted to more than anything. 

“I sh-sh-should call K-K-Karen to g-g-get Doctor Sam-am-son's n-number.” _And apologize for being a huge dickhead._

Matt reached into one of his small pouches and pulled a folded piece of paper out. Karen's neat handwriting was clear as day. “She was hoping you would want it.” He grinned at him. “She's gonna be thrilled tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he sighed. “I have to tell her she was right and I was wrong. You know how much she loves hearing that.”

Foggy chuckled, “E-every w-w-wo-woman does.”

Matt nodded with a laugh. “And most times they are.”

Foggy found he couldn't disagree and took the piece of paper with Doctor Samson's number on it for the second time today, only this time he was going to use it.

~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you like this chapter. It was a struggle to find time to write and then I restarted it about a hundred times. Thank you for reading it. :)


	6. Dr. Samson and Artemis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. I do hope you like this chapter.
> 
> This does deal with some of the torture Foggy went through but once again not a lot. It's very vague. I just wanted to warn people. Thank you again for taking the time to read, comment, kudo and subscribe. It means so much to me. :)

~*~*

Foggy was nervous that whole week leading up to his first appointment with Doctor Samson. His already diminished appetite took another hit. Just the smell of some foods made him want to run in the other direction and find the nearest toilet. His clothes weren't just hanging off him, in painfully obvious way, he had to make new holes in his belts to keep his pants in place – because he was too poor to buy a new one. (In this case poor was a substitute for emotionally compromised to the point of panic at the thought of being in a store with only strangers.)

Karen worried a lot. She wrung her hands together, lines appearing in her brow, wetness gathering in the corners of her azure eyes and there was nothing he could do to comfort her. Occasionally he would _try_ though. Small things that caused him distress but seemed to ease hers – a hand on her shoulder, a quick hug (so quick no one could really call it one) or the ever popular fist bump.

The last one was the one he went with the most. Minimal contact, but friendly and something he used to do all the time. It put a watery smile on her lips when he would hold out his shaky fist for her. Foggy would tell himself that was worth the hours he spent in the shower at night hyperventilating and scrubbing at his skin until it was raw.

With Matt it was different. They were always different. He was worried as well, of course that's his constant state of being, but he was also calm. He never pushed Foggy to touch him or talk to him. He just waited, hovering quietly around the edges. At night he would come into Foggy's apartment – through the window, because such was the life of a superhero vigilante – and they would just sit there listening to the sounds of the city. 

The night before his appointment, Foggy broke down. He curled next to the wall by the window, much like he had in Matt's apartment that night months ago, and sobbed. Matt silently, as only a ninja could, came in and sat next to him, pushing the cowl of his suit up and off his head. He took his seat next to his friend, close but no where near as close as they would have been before his life imploded. Letting his body heat do what his hands and arms couldn't.

“I-I-I'm s-s-scared. How s-s-s-stupid r-r-right,” he hiccuped, “You g-g-get shot at and I-I'm scared t-t-to go talk to s-s-someone.”

“Not the same,” Matt drew his knees up and rested his arms on them, staring at the wall across from them. “And it's not stupid. You could never be stupid.” He paused, “Do you want me to go with you? We could close the offices, it's not like our case load is overwhelming and I can listen to the depositions from the Miller case while you're in the there.”

A warmth spread throughout his body, a tiny amount of peace. Wiping the residual water from his cheeks, Foggy gave Matt a lopsided half smile, “No.” The other man nodded. “B-b-but thank you.” He picked at the material of his pajama pants, pulling at a thread on his knee over and over again. “I-I h-h-have to do this m-m-myself.”

“I know,” Matt whispered into the quiet room. He turned toward him and his eyes soft with emotion. “But I need you to know that you aren't alone. Karen, Claire, and I – we will be with you every step of the way.”

“I still don't u-u-u-understand t-t-th-that,” Matt opened his mouth, probably to give an impassioned speech about how much he meant to them, but Foggy shook his head, making sure the gesture could be easily seen. “But I'm t-t-trying to. A-and m-may-b-be one d-d-day I will.”

“You will,” his friend confirmed firmly. “I'll make it my mission to make sure you will.”

He stared at the floor between his legs to avoid seeing that earnest expression, “You h-have enough m-m-missions.” 

Matt gently nudged his chin up, using just enough pressure to complete the task then removing his hand so that Foggy wouldn't freak out. His breathing escalated and his stomach flipped but he didn't feel the need to run. Once Matt was sure that he had his full attention he said the words that made Foggy's heart shatter and mend all at the same time.

“You getting better is the most important mission in my life. _You_ are the most important person in my life. You and me,” his mouth quivered, he smiled through it, “Maverick and Goose.”

_Maverick and Goose_

_Goose died_

Wasn't that what Matt told him that first day?

~*~*

Foggy walked into the cool offices of Leonard Samson twenty minutes before his appointment. The small waiting room was empty of patients, for which he was relieved. A sweet looking Hispanic woman in her mid-thirties sat at the receptionist's desk across from the door. Her light brown eyes were cordial and inviting and her bright cherry lips curled into a passively kind smile. 

“Hello,” her voice had a slight accent. To Foggy it sounded like cinnamon tasted, spicy and warm. “Name please?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, “F-F-Frank-l-l-lin Ne-nelson.”

She turned to her computer, typing quickly then faced him again. She grabbed a clip board next to her computer on the desk, handing both that and a pen to him. “If you could just fill this out, I'll go tell Doctor Samson his 9:15 has arrived.”

He nodded, his hand tightening on the plastic in his hands. He sat in the seat closest to the door; not at all wanting to admit he did that with full intention of running like his ass was on fire. He breathed deeply, starting to fill out the necessary forms, his hand shaking with each word. Somehow by the grace of God, he managed to finish the bulk of the paper work without it looking like a four year old just learning to write.

He jumped when the door to the inner opened and the receptionist appeared before him. “Dr. Samson will see you now.”

“But I-I-I'm early,” Foggy panicked, looking at his watch. “H-he m-m-must have other things to d-d-do, r-r-right?”

Her passive smile slid gracefully into a more genuine one, “He is looking forward to meeting you and,” humor danced in her eyes, “he has a pretty laid back attitude sometimes.”

Foggy stood on shaky legs and made his way to the door. She moved slightly out of the way, giving him room to get past her without touching. The knots in his shoulders loosened a little. She led him down a short hall way to a thick, mahogany door. She knocked once, “Doctor.”

“Please show him in, Miss Martinez.” A deep strong voice replied from the other side. 

She gave him a quick nod and pushed open the door. Foggy forced his limbs to move over the threshold. Doctor Leonard Samson was _nothing_ like Foggy expected. Not that Foggy knew what to expect. He had always had a healthy way of dealing with bad feelings, so the need for a therapist wasn't one his parents entertained. He guessed he thought the man he was meeting would be small with glasses, maybe a mousy individual, studious definitely, wearing an ill-fitting suit, a Mr. Magoo type – something along those lines.

Doctor Samson was the exact opposite. The man was a mountain. He was tall and muscular and had green hair pulled back in a low pony tail. He was wearing glasses but they fit his face in a way that only enhanced his handsome features. His eyes were the most interesting shade of green, almost unnaturally green, but then again so was his hair. He rose from a high back leather chair; smiling professionally at him. 

“Mr. Nelson,” his voice was even deeper face to face.

“F-f-f-foggy,” he corrected. He still couldn't hear his name, _Mr. Nelson_ , without supplanting a German accent on it. “P-p-p-ple-eease.”

“Of course,” Doctor Samson waved to the chair across from his. “Please sit Foggy.” It took every ounce of strength not to run away and take a seat instead. Once he was seated Doctor Samson returned to his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee and grabbed a legal pad with a pen attached to the top. “Well since we are talking names, I'll let you decide what you want to call me. My real name is Doctor Leonard Skivorski. The doctor Samson name is because of the hair. I liked it so I kept it, but it's not my legal name. I have clients call me doc Samson, just doc, Dr. Leo – although that one is more my father than me, I do still answer to it – if you wish you can call me Sam. I'm pretty much open to anything other than moss head.” Foggy choked on a laugh and the other man joined him. “Now Foggy what did you want to talk about today?”

“I d-d-don't,” he curled his fists together. He tilted his chin up defiantly. “Know i-if I-I-I can.”

Doctor Samson looked over the rim of his glasses at him. “Why?”

Foggy answered with a shrug, feeling a bit like a failure. This was what he wanted right?

“Listen, Foggy,” he leaned forward, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Anything you say here, stays here. Like Vegas only it really won't end up on Facebook later. I also want to assure you whatever you're feeling is alright. Your feelings are valid and I promise you I will do anything I can to help you sort them out.” 

Foggy nodded, still unable to untie his tongue enough to speak.

Doctor Samson put the legal pad back on the small table he had it on when Foggy came in and clasped his hands together. “Why don't I tell you some things about me and hopefully that will break the ice.”

“You s-s-s-supposed to do that?”

“Ah,” Samson shrugged. “I promise not to bore you too much with details. Just general stuff. Let's see. I'm a psychiatrist, obviously. I've been practicing for a while, giving the years makes me feel old,” a cheeky smile, “I have traveled to many places, but New York is my home. I was away when the alien invasion happened and still can't quite believe it did. I keep my hair long despite the fact that people complain I look like a hippie, I see you are a man after my own heart.” 

Foggy ran a hand through his own longish hair. “Not as l-l-l-long as yours.”

“Hm,” Samson nodded, “You are probably not as long in the tooth, as they say, as me either. So you have time to catch up, if you think you are up to the challenge.”

“I had longer hair in college,” Foggy spoke without a single stutter. He didn't even notice, but the other man raised an eyebrow. “It w-w-was glorious.”

“I bet, what made you cut it?”

“Work,” Foggy sighed dramatically. “Being a-an a-adult.”

“Sucks doesn't it?”

That caused another surprise laugh to escape Foggy's chest and he relaxed against the cool leather of the chair he sat in. “Yeah.” He glanced at the other man's hair and asked the question he wasn't sure would get answered, “Green?”

“Natural, or at least it is now,” Doctor Samson seemed unaffected by the question. Maybe he was used to it by now. “I did something in my younger years, that I don't regret mind you, but it changed a lot about me.” He took the glasses off his face and folded the ear pieces. “Now how about you tell me about yourself.”

“You mean-” he stopped his heart thundering in his chest again. 

“You can talk about anything you want,” he leaned back. “There are no rules to this other than that you direct me. I am here to listen and help in anyway I can.”

Foggy waited another couple of minutes; a pit opening in his stomach. He closed his eyes and took a giant leap, “I-I-I-I was k-k-k-kid-n-napped.” He looked into the kind, emerald eyes across from him. “And n-n-now I don't know how to b-b-be okay.”

“Well,” Samson said, picking up his pad again. “That's why you're here and we'll figure out the rest as we go.”

~*~*

Matt was there in his apartment when he got home after his first appointment. Foggy wasn't even the least bit surprised to see him. It gave his heart a jolt and he coughed to cover the jump. Not that it worked but hey it was worth a try.

His friend turned toward him, smiling nervously, “How did it go?”

Foggy flopped onto the couch next to him, leaning his head against the back, staring at the ceiling, “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah,” he rolled his head in the direction of Matt. The softening sunlight cased shadows on his face that Foggy wanted to trace. “I-I-I think this i-i-i-is going to be g-g-good.”

“I'm glad.”

They sat in silence for a while, letting the presence of the other relax them.

~*~*

“I can't h-h-handle touc-touching, of any sort,” Foggy paced the length of Doctor Samson's office two weeks later. “It m-m-makes me w-w-w-want to crawl o-o-out of my skin. I-I-I-I get... I-I-I just can't do it.”

“That's not uncommon for someone who went through even half of what I suspect you have. In fact I would be more shocked if you actively sought physical contact.” 

“But I-I-I w-w-w-want to touch.” Frustration made his voice louder than normal. “I-I-I want to t-t-touch -”

“Yes?”

“Never mind.”

Doctor Samson paused; then switched topics, “Okay. How are things going at your law firm?”

“We h-h-have a n-n-new client.”

“That's great.”

“Uh huh,” Foggy twisted his hands together. “I t-t-think he and I m-m-might have some things in c-c-common.”

“Meaning?”

“He was t-t-tortured t-t-too,” he turned to stare out the window, making pictures out of the heavy clouds outside, “I understand him better than m-m-most would i-in my p-pro-pro-profession. Makes m-m-me a p-p-pretty good fit for him.”

“Somehow,” Samson said with a soft strength, “I think you would have been a great lawyer for this client regardless.”

Foggy turned, a half smile on his face. “That's w-w-what Matt said.”

“Sounds like your partner is a very smart man.”

“He is,” the half smile turned into a grin. “He really i-is.”

~*~*

With each meeting Foggy found himself sharing a little bit more. One week it was-

“I-I hate them,” he sighed, physically exhausted from the weight of that hate. “And I-I h-h-hate that I h-h-hate them.” Doctor Samson nodded. “I'm so angry. I-I want to hurt them. An-and that's n-n-not me. I feel like I'm being eaten alive.”

“Yes,” the doctor put his pen down. “I know a thing or two about rage. And how it can consume a person.”

“Dr. B-Bruce B-B-Banner. You worked-d-d with the Hulk. That's how,” he gestured to the other man's hair. “Green.”

“Hmm,” he acknowledged. “You've been reading up on me.”

“Google was m-m-made for c-c-cyber stalking.”

“I can't disagree with that.”

~*~*

The next- 

“Sometimes I don't k-k-know w-why I didn't die. Sometimes I think it would h-h-have been better if I h-had.”

“Like I said when we first met, your feelings are valid, but I can assure you, it would not be better without you here and I believe your friends would agree with me.”

“Yes-s-s, but they don't know what it's l-l-lik-ee in my head.”

“Have you tried to tell them?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Foggy turned away from the doctor's stare, “I'm supp-pose to make-e-e them feel better. That's my role, without it I-I'm nothing.”

“Talk to your friends,” Doctor Samson urged.

~*~*

He did. Matt and he sat on the roof of Matt's apartment sipping beers watching the stars dance in the sky – and he told him.

Matt's tears broke his heart. “You have never been nothing Foggy. To me or anyone else.” He reached out to touch Foggy's hand, hesitating. Foggy gripped his fingers, holding on for longer than he has been able to since he was rescued. “You – I – Without you Foggy, I don't know where I would be. You center me, as long as you're in the world, it can't be that bad.”

Foggy swallowed his tears. “You t-t-too Buddy.” He gave Matt's hand one more squeeze before giving into the need to let go.

~*~*

The following week he talked about the one thing he hasn't with anyone.

“I w-w-wasn't r-r-raped,” Foggy said quietly. “I kno-w-w-w everyone thinks I was, but I wasn't. H-h-he never w-w-went that far.”

“What did he do,” Doctor Samson asked cautiously.

“He'd t-t-touch me,” he whispered. “Then touch himself. H-he would talk about m-m-me and h-how he would make me s-s-sing. He would always- always start b-b-by t-t-t-touching my hair or face.” Tears fell. “N-n-not raped. He never had sex with me.”

“Was your hair and face the only things he touched?” Foggy shook his head, ashamed - _dirty_ , never clean. “Did he touch you in ways that made you uncomfortable?”

“I-I-I know what r-r-rape is,” Foggy responded heatedly. “I w-w-went to law school.”

“Yes you did and you know the definition of rape, but rape can be emotional too. It can wreck a person in the same way being physically assaulted can. Foggy,” Samson leaned forward in his chair. “He might not have entered your body, but he did rape you.”

“Why?” Foggy sobbed. “Why m-me? What d-d-did I do to deserve this?”

“You did nothing,” He replied firmly then Samson looked back at him woefully, “As for the why you part, I can't answer that I'm afraid.”

Foggy nodded. No one could, except the people that kidnapped him and he still wasn't ready to ask Matt about them.

~*~*

It was storming on Foggy's way home from work, he ducked his head cursing himself for not remembering an umbrella. The forecast called for clear skies with only a thirty percent chance of rain. He blinked up at the clouds sending painful water needles down to the Earth. 

“Thirty percent c-c-chance my ass,” he grumbled to himself. 

He was just turning around a corner when he heard some movement to his left in an alley. He paused, hearing all the warnings and seeing all the red flags in his mind. He should run. More movement, a small shadow. Not a human. An animal. His heart was at war. It could be anything. A cat, a small dog, a small dog sized rat, the sewer alligator Matt said he was crazy to believe in, literally _anything_.

Weighing the pro and cons of his stupid decision did nothing to stop him from entering the alleyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. A kitten. Maybe ten weeks ago. It's right front paw was up, obviously hurt. It's fur was matted, dirty and it was definitely underfed. Foggy hesitatingly walked over to the frightened creature. It's light eyes watched him warily. 

“I'm n-n-not going to hurt you,” he put as much softness into his words as he could. The rain almost drown them out though, he guessed it didn't matter. He reached out, expecting to get shredded to pieces by tiny claws, but instead the kitten went completely still. “Good, k-k-kitty.”

Foggy picked it up, he would have to find out the gender soon, and rushed out of the alley, tucking the small body against his chest under his jacket. He felt it shivering, trying to get closer to the source of heat. “We're a-a-almost h-h-home.”

~*~*

Using an old soft wash cloth, damp and soaped up, Foggy wiped at the fur of the kitten. It meowed pathetically, it's paw had gashes from abuse, fighting or just the streets of Hell's Kitchen he didn't know. The more grime he removed the more he saw and he's heart dropped. Blood, crusty and caked, deep wounds and what looked like a burn mark on it's side – the poor thing hissed and reacted, but still shivered. He tried to treat the sores as well as he could with all the first aid items he had on hand for Matt.

Once he was done he wrapped the cat in an old Columbia t-shirt that he wore when just bumming around, so it had his scent on the fabric and put the kitten in the middle of his floor. The small bundle licked at the wounds, tiny tongue inspecting his work, before curling up and going to sleep. 

Foggy pulled out his laptop and started researching what he would need. He remembered that cow's milk wasn't the best for cats and could make them sick – he really didn't want to clean up vomit tonight. He wrote down what he would need, tucked the list in his pocket and braved the weather again.

~*~*

“Aw,” Karen cooed at the kitten the next morning. “So cute!”

Foggy looked down at the small black and white fur ball, sleeping in the cardboard box he had some of his clothes in from when he moved into his apartment four years ago. The clothes were now in a trash bag. It wasn't like he was that attached to them anyway. “Y-y-yeah. It is.”

“Are you taking it to a shelter so they can try and adopt it out?” Karen questioned, easing to stand straight. “They probably also need to look at all those wounds.”

“I, um,” he stopped. “Vet's. I-I-I-I'm taking it to t-t-the vet's later on t-t-today.”

“Are you planning on keeping it,” Matt asked staring in his direction. Foggy glanced down at it again. The kitten stretched it's body, rolling it's legs out from under it's belly. It yawned deeply then looked up at Foggy. The animal's eyes were a mix of gray and green, beautiful color. Just seeing them made Foggy's heart swell. Matt sighed, “So what are you going to name your pet?”

“I didn't s-s-say I was g-g-going to keep her or h-h-him,” Foggy protested weakly.

“And yet you are,” Matt countered amused.

“Maybe,” Foggy muttered, reaching into the box to pet the baby. It snuggled closer into his hand, purring so loud he felt it as he brushed his fingers over the tiny form. 

“Definitely,” Karen and Matt said in unison. Foggy didn't bother arguing anymore seeing as he was already thinking of names for each gender.

~*~*

“The vet said that she has been b-burnt in some p-p-places,” Foggy fumed at his meeting with Doctor Samson three weeks later. He had called ahead to make sure he could bring, Artemis – a warrior woman seemed an appropriate name - with him. The receptionist and Samson were both very open to the idea. “I knew about one, but t-t-there were others. She has cuts from someone intentionally injuring her. How c-c-could s-s-s-someone do that t-t-to a k-k-kitten?”

“There are a lot of truly sick and sadistic people in this world, Foggy,” Samson replied, “You should know that better than anyone.”

He nodded, taking his seat again, “She doesn't seem t-t-to like to b-b-be t-t-touched either. Nearly clawed the v-v-vet's hand to s-s-shreds. Matt and K-Karen can barely h-h-hold her and only when I-I'm around. B-b-but she doesn't m-m-mind me. How can s-s-she t-t-trust me when all she's known from people i-i-is pain?”

“Animals are smart. Yes she might be scared and she has every right, but you are showing her that a human's touch can heal as much as harm.” Samson smiled. “You are showing her that not everyone is out to cause pain and some contact is soothing.”

Foggy glared at the other man, “Are y-y-you using my k-kitten as a t-t-teaching tool? Seriously?”

Samson shrugged, grinning unabashedly, “When a teaching tool is presented so nicely, who am I to snub my nose at it?”

Foggy huffed and petted Artemis.

~*~*


	7. Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to once again thank everyone for taking the time to read, kudo subscribe and comment. It makes my day so much brighter. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks again!

Each time he went to see Doctor Samson, Foggy found himself more and more curious about how he was rescued and about what happened to those men. Those God awful, evil men that wrecked his carefully constructed world in the span of a few weeks. He was curious but still too scared to say anything to anyone.

His conversations with the psychiatrist were the one place he could be completely honest with everything. Including his not so secret feelings for one auburn haired lawyer.

”I love him,” Foggy paced the office, wringing his hands over and over. “I-I-I have f-f-for y-y-years.”

“Does he know?”

“Yeah,” he whispered loud enough that Doctor Samson heard him. “He's a-a-always known.” Foggy turned a self-deprecating smile on the man across from him. “I-I'm a bit of a f-flirt. Or I was b-b-before all this happened.” He sat back on the couch and dropped his head into his hands. “I may h-h-have told him he w-w-was really g-g-good looking the first t-time we met. Like within the f-f-first t-t-ten minutes of that meeting. Without any prompting at all. In the middle of our shared dorm room.” Samson laughed richly. “I-I know. Smooth, right?” He shook his head a full smile blooming on his face, “But I t-t-think he would have k-k-known anyway. Matt's – he's special.”

“Special how?”

Foggy paused, trying to collect his thoughts. He rolled his tongue against his bottom lip and started talking about one of his favorite subjects, “He's h-h-honestly the best guy I know. He,” Foggy sighed trying to think of how to describe him, “Matt's brilliant. Not an exaggeration either. He is. G-g-g-graduated S-s-s-summa Cum Laude from C-C-Columbia.” Artemis jumped into his lap, curling into a ball. Foggy smiled down at her, scratching behind her ears, “He can be c-cocky as hell e-e-especially w-w-when he knows he has a court room in the palm of his hand. B-b-but if you have e-e-ever seen him in p-p-person you'd know he has every r-r-r-reason to be cocky.”

“You said you thought he was good looking,” Doctor Samson put his pad of paper down. 

“Yeah,” he nodded at the other man, “But i-i-i-it's more than that. Matt is strong. You immediately know he i-i-is g-g-going to be in your corner, h-h-he'll f-f-fight for you. He gives way too much of himself.” He let his eyes drop from Doctor Samson's. “I wonder s-s-s-sometimes why he picked me as his f-f-friend.”

“If I were to hazard a guess,” the doctor smiled encouragingly, “he thinks the some things about you, you think about him.”

“Then he would be wrong,” Foggy responded gloomily. “Maybe a-a-at one t-t-time, but not a-a-anymore.”

Samson paused, thoughtful, “Okay let's try something,” he raised his eyebrows at Foggy until he nodded his consent. “You always talk about how you don't see yourself as anything more than a sidekick and after everything you've been through, you don't even see yourself as that anymore. Which is definitely something we will work on in the next meeting, but for now I want you to place yourself in Matt's shoes and look at yourself through his eyes.”

Foggy's smirk was slightly cruel to himself, “Can't. He's blind.”

“And yet,” Samson was undeterred, “I'm sure he still sees you just fine.”

For a second, Foggy froze. It was impossible for Samson to know, but... He took a deep breath and tried to think like his partner. Not an easy task. “I guess h-h-he would say I'm f-f-family. He doesn't have much of t-t-that.”

“Which means he counts on you.”

“No, I've just been t-t-to stubborn to l-l-leave.”

“Stop thinking with your insecurities, Foggy, just this once.” 

He sighed and tried again. “He doesn't laugh nearly e-e-enough, I can make him d-d-do that. He has a beautiful laugh. He l-l-likes when I narrate movies to him. Says I-I-I do it better than the a-a-audio commentary. W-w-when he looks at me, I-I feel special.”

“Why?”

“Because he's in my life.”

“Do you think he feels special being in yours,” he held up a hand before Foggy could speak, “think from Matt's point of view.”

“I don't know.” He said after a moment.

“Why not?”

“I'm n-n-not sure I want to know.” Samson didn't say anything for a long time and Foggy started to feel antsy, “I know he cares about me.”

“Uh huh.”

“I j-j-just – I...”

“Yeah I know,” the doctor nodded, “You don't know why, but Foggy from everything you've told me, I don't think Matt would just latch himself to someone he didn't believe was as amazing to him as he is to you. I think you should talk to him. Honestly. Hearing from him might help you see yourself in a different way. It might help you from drowning in all the self hatred that what happened to you caused.”

“What if I'm not strong enough,” Foggy worried, petting Artemis in quick short motions.

“The fact that you lived,” Samson leaned all the way forward in his chair, “tells me you are a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. I'm also going to give you a bit of homework. Everyday until our next meeting I want you to write one thing that you like about yourself. It can be anything, but I really want you to try this so you can see how much you matter.”

Foggy left the appointment with a lot on his mind. He had no plans to talk with Matt yet and had no idea what he would write about himself. But maybe one day he would be ready to put all his cards out on the table for the both of them.

~*~* 

_Day One:_

_I have great hair. Doctor Samson is jealous. Although he has nice hair too. I still kick ass in the luscious locks department._

He did say if could be anything. And it's easier for Foggy to be glib then actually go deep. It's a start.

~*~*

“Stupid sons of bitches!” Foggy bellowed through the office. “I wish I could get my hands on the Red Skull and those other Hydra bastards as well as the dick weeds that are trying to put Bucky away!”

Karen and Matt looked in his direction as he paced the floor. Both were astonished by his venom and the lack of a stutter. Neither brought it to Foggy's attention. This was the most like him they've seen (heard) since the kidnapping. Karen bit her lip hard and Matt tried to swallow an excited smile. Foggy continued to ignore them in favor of grumbling to himself (and the neighboring offices). 

“I mean really,” he paused, gesturing with his hands to both of them. “He was tortured, experimented on and kept in a constant state of amnesia for the better part of seventy years. H-h-h-how can t-t-they try to imprison him again and call it j-j-j-justice? Don't they h-h-have a conscious?”

“That's why we took the case Foggy,” Matt shuffled the papers around them. “We're going to help him.”

“You're d-d-d-damn right we are,” he took a deep breath and sat down, the anger still boiling under his skin. He knew his torture was bad, but every time he read about Bucky's or talked with him, he was reminded it could have been so much worse. He lost three weeks and yes he was still broken, but Bucky lost decades and he was trying to get back to the man he used to be – even if he told Foggy privately he wasn't sure he ever would because the Winter Soldier was a monster that lived in his soul now – Foggy was going to do everything he could to make sure he got his best chance at that. Part of him hoped if he could help Bucky then maybe he could help himself as well. Foggy locked that selfish hope away from the world. “We're g-g-g-gonna rock this.”

“And I'm going to enjoy seeing Nelson and Murdock kick some ass,” Karen declared with a firm nod.

Foggy held out his fist without thought and she quickly bumped it. He grinned at her, going back to his stack of affidavits. He never noticed Karen get up or the tears of joy that slipped down her face while she fiddled with the copier to hide her reaction from him.

~*~*

_Day two:_

_I am a good lawyer. I try to follow the law and help the ones that big company has forgotten or ignored in favor of making lots of money. Although I would not be opposed to making lots of money. Just saying. Making money is on my goal list...just after making sure the law works._

~*~*

Artemis stretched out on the bed, watching him carefully as he cleaned the room around her. It was a bad night. One he hasn't really had in a while. One with memories brought on by innocent things that knocked his equilibrium down to nothing. 

Foggy actually thought he was getting better. He was still cleaning in spurts but nothing like he was before going to see Doctor Samson. The trigger was so minor there was no way for him to prepare for it. He opened his window to get some fresh air after cooking a perfect rib eye steak and heard the sound of a boat's horn in the distance. That was it. All she wrote. He was down for the count.

The sound pushed a memory to the forefront of his brain. The night of the branding. The smell of heated steel, the crackle of fire, the taste of his fear bitter acid in his mouth, the touch of the metal burning into his skin. The scream that ripped from his throat – loud and cracked from the lack of hydration – and the dark excitement of McGrouchy Fuck as he pressed the brand harder into him. His gleeful accented voice telling him that he was going to be marked like the good bitch he was. In the distance that night he heard a horn from another boat. Why it just now hit him, he didn't know, but God it sent him reeling.

It nearly took him to the ground with how quick it struck him. His stomach lurched sending him running for the bathroom. He heaved with images in his mind, looping over and over again. But it was the smell of his own skin being altered forever that he couldn't shake. He laid down on the cool tile floor, praying as the twisting of his insides continued. Artemis curled up next to him, purring softly and licking at his sweaty hair. 

After an hour on the floor, Foggy picked up the kitten and deposited her on his bed. It was then the cleaning began with a vengeance. He's pretty sure there isn't a speck of dust in his apartment anywhere, but he continued. At around twelve thirty he turned out the lights in the apartment, his bones tired and his mind blissfully clear again until a creaking outside his window made he turn with his heart in his throat. Artemis raised up, the hair at her back slowly extending, her ears flattening in response to his reaction.

The mass of movement eased into the room, unfolding in the darkness. Foggy didn't think – the fear from earlier still too fresh – and picked up the heaviest item within reach which happened to be his hard copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird._ The figure caught the book a half a second before it hit him in the back of the head.

“Foggy?”

“Matty,” he breathed, feeling the stress seep out of him in small amounts. “Holy s-s-s-shit!” He bent at the waist torn between laughing in relief and crying with the weight of his anxiety. “I-I-I thought... I'm s-s-s-sorry.”

Matt gently placed the book on the bed next to Artemis, who was waiting for Foggy to relax enough to let her know everything was okay. He quickly petted her softly, cooing to her, feeling her tightly wound muscles give way. Matt tilted his head, listening, letting Foggy take the lead.

“I h-h-had a bad night,” he admitted.

Matt nodded, “I smelt the cleaning supplies.” He moved hesitantly over the bed. “What happened?”

“A memory,” Foggy whispered.

“Of what,” Matt eased onto the plush mattress. 

Foggy thought about the mark on his side. The mocking brand meant to hurt and remind. The raised skin that he hoped like hell Matt didn't know about, but knew that it was a real possibility he knew more about Foggy's torture than even he did. Freaky senses at work. He swallowed, pulling Artemis closer like a shield and lied, “Nothing.”

The lie hung like a weighted sword from the ceiling. He felt the point graze his throat, scrape against his skin. And he felt sick all over again.

~*~*

_Day 3_

_I have friends that love me, even if I hate myself. There must be something good about me, right?_

Foggy looked over the page before ripping it out and starting again.

_Day 3_

_I can get out of bed, even when I don't want to. I can and will get better._

He punctuated the sentence with as much convention as he could. He hoped he wasn't setting himself up for failure.

~*~*

Being around Bucky is a bit like being around a kindred spirit. Both got what it was like to have a larger than life best friend, have a job they loved (Bucky as a soldier, Foggy a lawyer) and have that confidence in themselves be shattered to pieces by evil men doing horrible things. It's the only time Foggy felt like he could talk honestly about what happened to him and not get looked at with mere sympathy. Because Bucky _understood._

Matt and Captain “Please call me Steve” America were in the other room with Sam “The Falcon” Wilson discussing the case while Foggy sat quietly with Bucky in the small living room of the safe house they were able to find for the “fugitive.” Artemis jumped into Bucky's lap as soon as they arrived, curling against his chest purring like an engine. Bucky scratched under her chin, his usual somber face relinquishing a half smile.

“Before her,” the soldier said, “I was only a dog person. I thought cats were supposed to be stand-offish.”

Foggy shrugged, “I-I think she's j-j-just special. She's been t-t-through hell to. S-She g-g-gets it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, quietly contemplating. “Do you think we can win this? Tell me honestly. Don't bullshit me please.”

Foggy rubbed a hand over his face and directed his attention on the older man, “If I-I-I didn't b-b-believe w-w-we could win, that I c-c-could not give you my b-b-best, I wouldn't h-h-have taken the case.” Foggy sagged a little, “T-The law isn't perfect Bucky, b-b-but I have to believe justice will win out.” 

“Some would say the only justice the Winter Soldier deserves is a bullet to the back of the head.”

“Is that some people o-o-or you?” 

Bucky seemed to fold onto himself, never losing contact with Artemis though, “I did some truly horrible things. I killed people, innocent people. I'm not a good person. I deserve to be put down like the animal I am.”

“Was,” Foggy insisted, “And that w-w-wasn't even you. Sergeant James Barnes was, is, and will always be a hero. T-T-The Winter Soldier is a man that was f-f-forced to do those horrible things after years, decades, of brain washing and torture and conditioning. That part of you exists, I'm not going to b-b-blow smoke up your ass, b-b-but what happened to y-y-you makes a difference. You were taken against your will, fed lie after lie and systematically wiped clean of who you are. T-T-That is why I'm going to fight with everything in me to make sure justice is served. Because you deserve nothing less than my very best.”

The room got quiet except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Foggy's heart was pounding, feeling the adrenaline course through his veins. He dared to look up and saw not only Bucky but Steve, Sam and Matt staring at him. Heat flushed his cheeks and he quickly ducked his head, picking at the thread bare arm of the chair he was sitting in.

“Thank you,” Bucky said softly. “Thank you for not seeing the monster.”

And really what was there to say to that? Foggy grinned sheepishly and shrugged, “Anyone want a b-b-beer?”

Well there was that. 

“That sounds good,” Steve agreed a beer would do them all some good and went into the kitchen to grab some.

He could feel Matt's gaze on him and looked up to meet his law partner's eyes that were covered by his red tinted glasses. The pride on his face warmed Foggy's soul and he found himself blushing again. It was a nice feeling.

~*~*

_Day 4_

_I'm worth being happy. I want to be that way again. I want to..._

~*~* 

_Day 5_

_I like when I can make Karen and Matt laugh. I like that I can do that still, just not as much as before._

~*~*

_Day 6_

_I hate crying. I hate that I still cry over those bastards. I hate the holes in my memory and yet I know that I'd hate it worse if I knew everything. I want to smile. I like my smile._

~*~*

He handed the notebook to Doctor Samson the next time he saw him. The doctor raised his eyebrow at the first entry and chuckled softly. He shut the spiral book and handed it back to Foggy, who tucked it against his side and the arm of the couch he was sitting on.

“On day six you mentioned the holes in your memory,” his doctor prompted.

”I don't remember entire chunks of t-t-time,” he idly petted Artemis, a habit he got into as a way to calm down enough to get into the darker moments of his time away. The kitten would bop her head against his hand and curl as close to Foggy as she could get. “S-s-sometimes I wonder if that's because of the ab-ab-abuse or if that was b-b-because I-I-I just can't. M-My mind won't let me.”

“It's possible,” Samson said, templing his fingers and resting his strong jaw on them, “that it's both. Do you want to regain that time?”

Foggy stopped petting his kitten, much to her annoyance if the claw to his thigh was any indication, and sighed, “I don't k-k-know. What I d-d-do remember is pretty t-t-terrible.” He returned to petting Artemis, “So how bad was it that my brain completely blacked it out?”

The other man leaned back in his chair, “I don't know.”

“Neither do I,” he shuddered slightly, “And that's why I-I'm afraid-d-d to ask.”

“Ask who?”

“The o-one p-p-p-person who may be able to tell me s-s-some of it.”

~*~*

_Day 123_

_I want to know what it's like to be whole again. I deserve that. I have earned that. And I also want to be able to touch my friends freely again. I want to finally be able to give that part of myself to Matt because we have both earned that. I want to live again._

~*~* 

It was six months into his meetings with Doctor Samson, two spiral notebooks of daily affirmations, and three months with the speech therapist that was recommended to him to help with his stammering, because this conversation was too important to be tripping over all his words, later before Foggy felt ready enough to ask Matt about those weeks he was gone and the night he was rescued. He doesn't know why he decided this was the day. He just woke up and knew the only way he was going to be able to move on was by hearing from Matt. And Karen, but she wasn't his sole goal for today.

He walked into the office that morning with a purpose. His heart was hammering in his chest so he knew Matt was quite aware of his presence standing in the doorway to his office, but his law partner waited almost ten seconds – which by the way felt more like ten years to Foggy – before he lifted his head from the Braille printout of the newest motion in the Sergeant James Barnes case they were building. Foggy rubbed his sweat covered hands against his trousers and swallowed repeatedly.

Matt took off his glasses and stared in his direction, his unfocused eyes nearly hitting his own perfectly. “Foggy?”

“I want to know,” he spoke slowly, careful to get out the words. “I want to know everything.”

“Everything?”

He nodded, “I nodded. Yes, e-e-everything. Please Matty.” Matt hesitated a second too long and Foggy didn't have to be a superhero with super senses to know that he was still unsure. “I need this. I'm not going to get better without it.”

“I don't know if I can, Foggy,” Matt looked wrecked. “I don't want to throw that on you.”

“Matt,” Foggy took the seat across from him. “I h-h-honestly don't know if I can handle it all, but there are things I have to know and you are the only one that can answer them for me.”

Another second of silence then Matt gave a sharp nod, his face conflicted. “If you're sure...”

“I am.”

“Then okay,” he licked his lips. 

“Okay,” Foggy didn't know if he was relieved that he said yes or devastated. “Tonight? I'll be at your apartment when you get back from patrol.”

Matt stood and walked over to Foggy's seat, squatting down in front of him. “I don't have to patrol tonight,” Foggy nearly choked because that was a bunch of bull. “I don't,” Matt insisted. “We can go home – er – back to my place right now and...”

Foggy stopped him with a quick finger to Matt's lips. “Tonight.” He sighed deeply. “I think y-y-you are going to be t-t-too worked up if we do it right now and I'm not mentally prepared. Plus we have meetings with clients that can't wait.” He gathered some strength deep within him and touched Matt's cheek, Matt leaned into the touch immediately. “Tonight.”

Matt nodded. It was a date.

~*~*


	8. Touch and Hold on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written a time line for this story, because I kept getting myself confused. I'll post it at the bottom if you want to know where this chapter and others fall. I really hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for taking the time to read it. It means so much to me.

Foggy let himself into Matt's apartment with butterflies the size of pterodactyls in his stomach. It was half past ten and he knew Matt wouldn't be back from his patrol for at least another couple of hours, but couldn't wait at home anymore. Everything at his place made him jump. The ice maker kicking on, the pipes rattling in the walls as some person turned on the faucet, the slight thump of footsteps outside his door from the neighbors returning home, the grinding high pitched sound of metal in a high def action movie playing against his wall where the Haggin's set up their new flat screen, etc. He heard it all in ways he never had before. It nearly drove him insane, but it also gave him a new appreciation for what Matt must deal with everyday. Only, you know, a gazillion times worse because he most definitely didn't have heightened anything. Other than maybe sardonic wit. 

And even that was iffy now and days.

He locked the door tightly behind him and walked straight into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. No need to be completely sober for this conversation. Slightly inebriated sounded like a good state to be in. Of course, after years of Josie's “special eel elixir”, one beer was not going to cut it. He needed something harder and stronger to really get those neurons floating. Foggy opened and shut various cabinets like he had never been to his partner's place before. He knew where the good stuff was, but the act of looking gave him a chance to think a little more. Both a bad and a good thing.

His brain was a labyrinth of dead ends tonight. A question, a thought would start to form then disappear before he could truly get a grip where it was going. He knew that was because of the talk he was about to have with Matt, but it was still extremely disorienting for him. He honestly _was_ used to thoughts flying in and out of his mind (and mouth) on a regular basis – this however was different – and Franklin “Foggy” Nelson didn't always welcome different easily. Especially when the reason it was unusual was based on his own fears. Fuck he hated that. 

Slamming shut the cabinet he was looking in, he took a deep gulp of his beer, finishing off the bottle. He tossed the empty in the garbage to his right and walked toward Matt's room. The glow from the sign across from his apartment cased the room in a neon glow. Not nearly as bad as what it's like from the living room but still pretty horrible. The constant changing images and colors blend and blur in front of him. Even though everyone assumed Matt didn't notice the giant monstrosity, Foggy knew different. One time, after the big reveal, he told Foggy that the buzzing of electricity sometimes made him feel like he was hearing a million flies around his head at once. 

Foggy truly believed that would send him to the funny farm faster than anything (and why out of all the apocalypse’s that have been purposed, the Zombie one was the least agreeable with him – because _flies_ ). One annoying bug around him was hard enough to deal with, but to always have that sound, just there, with no relief? Oh God no. He most definitely did not envy Matt that. And he did envy Matt a lot for many of his skills. Had since he was a kid and grew up hearing the fantastical story of a boy from his neighborhood that risked his life to save a stranger and ended up blind. It was like a Greek tragedy only not, because it was Hell's Kitchen. He would often think about that boy through the years, pondering all sorts of things. 

_How was he?_

_Did things get better?_

_Was he living happily somewhere?_

_Or the more dark questions like did he regret being selfless?_

_Did he wish he could turn back the clock and just let the elderly man get hit?_

_Was he angry?_

Never in his wildest dreams did he think for an instant that he would ever meet him, so he let himself make up stories. Endings to the Matt Murdock tale that suited him. Foggy imagined him whisked away, living the good life, enjoying everything that this world had to offer. The eternal optimist in him had the whole thing worked out where nothing else bad ever happened to the boy that gave up so much for a stranger.

Too bad reality wasn't as kind as his imagination. 

That first year of law school, Matt would tell him things, offhandedly, almost testing to see what Foggy's reaction would be. It started with, _“My father was murdered because I wanted him to win, just once.”_

_Foggy's response had been quick, “I'm sure he wanted to win too. Not just because you wanted him to, but because he was a great fighter. Don't feel guilty for that. Your dad wanted to make his son happy. That's what dad's do.”_

_“But that decision cost him his life! I would have rather been disappointed then an orphan.”_

_“And he didn't want that either. Life sucks sometimes buddy, but your dad died knowing that he provided for you and that you were proud of him. I'm sure if he could do things over again, he wouldn't change much, other than leaving you alone.”_

Matt had been silent after that. Foggy wished then and now that he could have offered more to his friend than words and hopes, but he couldn't. It was a wound that ran deeper than he could heal. One of the many that Matt carried with him. His personal metal ball and chain that grew bigger with each regret. Foggy had no doubt that his kidnapping added to the weight and for that, amongst other things, he would always hate the men that did the act. He never wanted to be part of his burden, Foggy always wanted to be his relief. His oasis in the storm of self-reproach.

Foggy wandered back into the living room, falling heavily onto the couch and stared at the wall across from it. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his stomach down. It wouldn't be much longer now and Matt would be arriving home. He needed all his energy, both nervous and otherwise, for the conversation that lie ahead. 

~*~*

The roof latch opening made Foggy jumped from his slouched position immediately, he yawned widely, stretching out his sore muscles. That couch is hell on his spine, but what could he expect from one that Matt and he found for eighty five dollars on Craig's List. Matt paused in his approach, carefully taking off his gloves then his mask. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled in the quiet. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't,” Foggy lied. He hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep until he woke up. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Hmm,” Matt nodded, not buying what he was selling. “You know we don't have to do this tonight.” He took another step toward him. “We could wait.”

“Are y-y-you stalling for my benefit or yours?”

Matt's smile was rueful, “Both maybe.” He sighed and finally sat next to him on the couch. The conscientious space he put between them wasn't lost on Foggy. He scooted a hair closer to Matt, just to show the closeness was alright. It was the touching he was still hinky about but even that had gotten marginally better. “I don't want to make this harder on you. I know how much you've worked to get better. And you are. I don't want to cause you - “ He shrugged by way of finishing.

“You don't want me to suffer,” Foggy supplied. Matt shrugged again. He smiled fondly at his friend, “How do you do all those back flips and leaps with the amount of guilt filled l-l-l-luggage you carry with you everywhere?”

Matt laughed softly, “I'm not that bad.”

“Did you sense any storm e-e-energy outside?”

Matt startled at the change in direction, his brow furrowed, “No.”

“Good,” Foggy said resolutely, “we're safe from the lightning bolt that would have struck your a-a-ass for that monster lie.”

“You suck,” Matt shook his head, a smile fully forming on his lips.

“Really? That's your comeback?”

“You put me on the spot.”

“Oh,” Foggy shook his head sadly, “Murdock, have I taught you nothing in a-a-all our years of f-f-friendship and by y-y-y-you being around my s-s-sparkling wit?”

“Apparently not,” Matt responded dryly, humor just below the surface.

“I have failed then.”

“Guess you have,” Matt agreed determinedly. “I guess that means you'll have to stay around and continue my lessons.”

The mood shifted noticeably. “I-I-I'm not going anywhere buddy,” Foggy's voice was thick with emotion.

Matt turned his unseeing, but kinda seeing eyes on him and swallowed, “Good. I'm holding you to that.”

“You do that.”

They leaned back against the cushions and let the night stretch out a little further. The talk was going to happen but right now, Foggy wanted to enjoy being with his friend. The one person he loved more than anything or anyone else in the world.

~*~*

“Where's Artemis?”

A couple bottles of beer between them on the small coffee table, clinked together when they moved their legs. Neither was too keen on starting the “Talk”, but knew the stalling had to come to an end soon. It was time. Foggy needed this. It was like ripping off a band- aid that has been on his skin for nearly a year. 

“With Bucky,” Foggy replied, rolling some knots out of his shoulders. The sun was peaking in between the buildings in the distance. It's been a long time since he and Matt had talked all night. “They get along really well and since he doesn't get out much, with y-y-you know being a fugitive, I-I thought it would be good for him.”

“Your cat hates me you know,” Matt said tiredly.

“She does not,” Foggy waved the comment off. 

“She hissed at me yesterday when I stepped too close to you,” Matt insisted.

“You are being ridiculous,” Foggy laughed. “Artemis lets you hold her which means she doesn't hate you.”

“Only when you are around.” 

He shrugged his friend's concerns off. “She's selective in her love.” Foggy ran a hand down his face, thanking God that today was Saturday because he and Matt were going need the rest of the day to crash. “Matt, w-w-we need to quit stalling now.”

His friend sagged more, “I know.” One last pause then, “What do you want to know?”

Foggy swallowed, “How did you find out that I was taken?”

“I went to your apartment that night,” Matt said tightly, the words sounding like they were being ripped from him without his permission, which was probably more right than wrong at this point. His breathing was slightly elevated and his hands curled at his sides. “I told you I would call and when I did, you didn't pick up. That- That wasn't – isn't – like you. Especially since you – you found out about Daredevil. You _always_ answer.” He swallowed roughly around his words. “The window was left open, as soon as I was in I knew something bad had happened.”

“H-h-how?”

“The smell, first. There was a bitterness to the air mixed with sweat. That told me you were scared.”

“My sweat t-t-told you that?”

“Hmm,” Matt nodded, “different emotions can make the pheromones in your body give off distinct fragrances. Fear, anxiety, that's a bitter one.”

“Stick teach you that.” Half question, half statement.

“Yeah, he taught me how to tell the difference.” He moved his hands to rest on his thighs, pressing hard into the muscles. “There was also traces of blood in the air.”

“They hit me, I think,” Foggy acknowledged, “knocked me out to move me.”

“The room was a complete mess. You aren't especially clean, or you weren't until recently, but you have always been tidy.”

“Who do I have to b-b-blame for that?”

Matt's grin was fleeting but real, “Leaving shit on the floor was inconsiderate when you knew I am blind. I had to make sure you realized that.”

“By faking an injury? You complained about your knee for days even made me carry y-y-your shit!”

“How do you know I was _allegedly_ faking? The book really _was_ on the floor, I really _was_ walking across the room, tripping and falling on my knee is plausible.”

“You can s-s-see, sorta, you could have navigated around it counselor! I have evidence to back my charge up.”

“As do I.”

Foggy rolled his eyes so hard he was sure Matt heard it, “You know you were f-f-faking. On the witness stand you would be jailed for perjury.”

“Good thing I'm not under oath than.”

“So you admit it!”

“I admit nothing,” Matt told him with a smirk, cocky as ever. “I was merely saying that it's a good thing I'm not under oath. You can take that however you want.”

“I take it to mean I'm right and y-y-you're a big liar that made me feel bad for almost a w-w-week for leaving my book on the ground, near my bed, might I add. I-I-I also give up my favorite cheesy snacks for two because of the guilt t-t-trip you sent me on.”

“Those things are toxic I was doing you a favor!”

“But they are also d-delicious.”

“I'm not having this argument with you again.”

“Good, because,” he paused hesitant to ruin the light mood again, but plowed ahead anyway. “We jumped the track again.”

Matt's smile fell, “Yeah, okay.” He sighed. “When I realized you were gone, I went – I didn't know what to do. I knew it wasn't Fisk – at least he didn't personally take you. After the news conference he went off to find Vanessa. I have no doubt they will return eventually, but I think he is getting a plan together first. At least that's what my contacts have told me.”

“You have contacts?” Foggy asked suspiciously. “Since when?”

“Since,” Matt turned fully toward him, “I couldn't find you on my own.” Matt looked devastated by those words like he had broken some promise he made to himself and to Foggy. “I couldn't – you weren't – I have always been able to find you. Your heartbeat is one I know better than anyone's and I can pick it out of a crowd, as creepy as that sounds, but I just -”

“Matty...” Foggy took his friend's fist in his hand and squeezed it quickly. Reassuring him. He wanted to pull back almost right away but he let the contact continue.

“You don't have to do that.” Matt told him even as he uncurled his fist and turned his hand so they were palm to palm with their fingers naturally entwining. “I know how much touching bothers you.”

“It does,” Foggy wasn't going to lie. Not with the human lie detector sitting so close to him and his own shaking that would flag him for the falsehood. “But I think we both need this more than m-m-my own s-s-stupid fears need to win.”

“Those first few days,” Matt continued, “they were the worse. I went out more than ever, I couldn't eat or sleep because I wanted to spend every moment looking for you. I needed to spend every moment looking for you. I would tear criminals apart looking for answers. No one seemed to know anything.” He paused, his breath heavy in his body. “Karen found out about me after the fourth day. I guess I looked pretty bad.” His bark of laughter wasn't kind. “To say she was pissed – she still is – would be an understatement. Part of her blames me for your kidnapping. She hasn't said it, but I know that's what she believes.” Another pause. “I do too.”

“You s-s-shouldn't,” Foggy shook his head. “You didn't cause me to be taken.”

“Now who's lying counselor,” Matt's words were rough with self-hatred. “We both know I painted a target on your back the minute I became Daredevil.”

“A-a-and we both know,” Foggy asserted, “That _I_ made the c-c-choice to be in y-y-your life after that. I m-m-made my decision in that gym when I told you I wanted to s-s-start again.”

“You shouldn't have,” his partner said sullenly. “You should have stayed away. Why didn't you?”

“Because I-I-I can't imagined my l-l-life without you,” he replied with tears filling his eyes. “You and me Matty, avocados at law. Maverick a-a-and Goose.”

“Once the days turned into weeks,” Matt whispered, through his own tears, “I went crazy – er – crazier. Daredevil became as much of a menace as a savior to some. I got a little bit of a reputation and drew attention to myself in a bad way. That's how I met my contacts.”

“Criminals?”

“Avengers,” Matt corrected. “Seems they've been keeping taps on some of the more loner type of “heroes”. I got cornered by Black Widow. We fought.”

“She didn't kill you, that's a good thing.”

“She could have,” Matt said honestly. “I wasn't at my best and she always is. Natasha told me that they had heard what I was doing. Who I was looking for and that they could help. I almost resisted but then she told me they had a possible location. That you were on a ship on the water. That explained why I couldn't sense you. You weren't in Hell's Kitchen anymore and water – it can mess with my senses.”

“I didn't know I was out in o-o-open water,” Foggy told him. “T-t-the room I was held in had no windows. I only knew I was on a boat because of the rocking and the way the metal felt.”

“I got sea sick, threw up at least once when we boarded the ship,” the other man admitted, Foggy laughed. “I think Clint and Natasha thought it was funny too.” His thumb started tracing Foggy's pulse. It shocked him that he forgot they were still holding hands. He waited for the unease to pick up again, but found himself relaxing instead. “The fighting helped center me enough that I didn't pass out.”

“You said that y-y-you didn't get all the trash when I f-f-first asked you.”

“At least one or two got away,” Matt sounded angry with himself. “Natasha told me to stop trying to chase them and go find you. That she would handle the guys. I never heard if they did. By that point I had turned my focus to getting to you.” He stopped completely, his hand tightening around his. “Remember when I told you I can pick you out of a crowd. That I knew your heartbeat better than anyone's?”

Foggy nodded, then voiced his answer, “Yeah.”

“When I found you, your heart – it sounded wrong.” Matt tensed up again and Foggy squeezed his hand in response. “The beats were off and slow. Some points I couldn't even tell if you were going to live. You were so cold when I went to you and you barely moved. There was so much copper in the air. And the faint smell of burnt skin,” the last sentence was said with the most shame he had heard from his friend yet. His heart jumped into his throat.

“You know.”

Matt nodded in jerking motions. “I didn't know exactly what it was or how they did it, but I knew you were – that,” another rough swallow. “I knew that they had burned you somehow. Claire told me what the symbol actually was later after I asked her what those assholes had done to you. Two fucking interlocking Ds.”

“I never wanted y-y-you to know about the brand,” Foggy felt his stomach knot up. “I never wanted you to know what happened to me. I-I didn't want you to b-b-blame yourself.”

“Why,” Matt went to pull his hand away but now that Foggy had gotten used to it, come to enjoy it again, he wasn't about to let him go and held on. “Foggy...”

“I don't remember everything,” he started. “I-I've s-s-spent almost a year trying to bury what I d-do remember. But I c-c-can't. I never wanted you to know about the brand or anything they did and blame yourself because I don't blame you. I never did. I blamed _me_.”

“You?”

“I s-s-should have been stronger, smarter,” he closed his eyes, fighting against the wave of feelings. “I broke so many times in that place Matty. What t-t-they did, didn't j-j-just leave scars on my skin, I think you know that.” Matt tensed even further next to him. “Ask.”

“What? Ask?”

“You told me that first day we met, you hated when people treated you like glass,” Foggy reminded him. “D-Don't do it to me.”

Tears hung in the corners of his best friend's eyes, “Did they rape you?”

“Yes,” Foggy whispered, the other man inhaled sharply. “But not in the way you think. D-d-doctor Samson made me face some things. Things I didn't want to.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I called him Sir Greasy Hands. He,” he stopped, the words getting stuck.

“You don't have to,” Matt was quick to reassure.

“Y-y-yeah, I do. I need you to know.” He licked his dry lips, “Sir Greasy Hands liked to touch – touch me d-d-during his sessions. He s-s-seemed to know e-e-exactly where to go and how to get in my head. He took things and twisted them. Like the song my grandma would sing to make me feel better. He always stroked my hair and face,” tears fell from both their eyes, neither bothered to wipe them away. “Then he would touch himself. He never had sex with me, but I think he might have eventually. T-T-The m-m-mind fucking he gave me was d-d-damning enough.” His next words showed the depth his hatred still went. “I wanted to kill him, still do.”

“I do too. That night I almost did kill some of them trying to get to your room. I barely stopped myself,” In a small voice he continued, “I didn't want to stop myself especially after I found you and you-” He shook his head, the thought still haunting him. “I once tried to sing that song to you,” Matt said regretfully. “It was when you were in the hospital and were having a nightmare. I thought it would help you. It didn't. In fact you got even more upset. Now I know why.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Neither do you,” Foggy said purposefully. “Nothing.” Matt looked unsure of that and maybe even a little defiant. “M-M-Matt listen to me. You didn't do anything wrong. Your s-s-super s-s-senses didn't come with a sixth one. You couldn't have known.” This time he rubbed Matt's pulse on his wrist with his thumb. It seemed so strange that this contact used to (and maybe after this still would) cause him to run. But right now, it was like a lifeline. “There was another guy. The other g-g-guy I named McGrouchy Fuck, he w-w-was the one to i-i-inflict the scars and the branding. H-H-He like to m-m-make me bleed.”

“I wish I had killed them,” Matt informed him vehemently. 

“I'm glad y-y-you didn't.” At Matt's look he sighed, “Like I said about Fisk last year, k-k-killing them, with as catholic a-a-a-s you are would have killed you as well. And that's not something I could handle.”

“I would have, for you, I would have.”

“I know. But I-I-I don't want y-y-you to l-l-live with that kind of guilt for me.”

They lapsed into silence. Foggy watching the pictures from the billboard dance across the wall, Matt brooding. He had no idea what time it was. He knew that the tiredness he felt before was starting to ease back in and he had no doubt his partner was exhausted from everything the night (and early morning) had to offer. He yawned widely forcing his body to make the necessary moves to get up so that they could both (well really so Matt could) digest the information, but Matt's hand tightened just a hair on his. 

“I don't want you to go back to your apartment,” Matt explained.

“How-”

“I know you,” he smiled. “You were planning to get up and leave, most likely to give me space.” He pressed his palm more firmly into his, “I don't need space, I only need my friend.”

Foggy's breath caught, his words from so long ago. He nodded and relaxed into the cushions with Matt again. It wasn't long before the comfortable silence led him right into a deep slumber. And for the first night in a very long time, the nightmares didn't creep along the edges of his subconscious. Instead it was dreams of a future that looked brighter than it had since the whole situation began. It was dreams of a possible future with Matt – whom even in sleep never let go of his hand.

~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline for the story: (if you even want to know) LOL
> 
> Fisk jailed - April  
> Trial June – September  
> Kidnapping - late Sept – early Oct  
> Back to work: - Early Oct- January  
> Therapy: Jan – July  
> Talk with Matt: July


	9. Cracks can be mended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bites nails* I'm really hoping you like this chapter. I feel like this story is coming to an end and I hope that all of you that have read it and possibly, maybe enjoyed it, like this part as well. Thank you so much for the kind words. For the kudos. For the subscribes. And for taking the time to read my small story. It means so much to me. :)

Waking up was always a mixed bag for Foggy. Some days it was a relief to escape the world of sweaty, greasy hands and objects of pain. Other days it brought him sadness because waking up meant another day without the ability to touch and laugh and be as happy as he always was before that night. Mixed bag. Foggy didn't know what today would be like. His cheek was warm from Matt's soft snores, his hand was still connected, his heart was racing but he didn't think it was because he was anxious, or not the bad kind of anxious, he was almost certain it was because he was with Matt. As plain and simple and oh so complicated as that. 

He resisted opening his eyes and starting the day – er – afternoon, possibly evening at this point, and evened out his breathing, listening to the man next to him. The soft intake and exhaling of oxygen against his skin sent tingles down his spine. It's been so long since he has been this close to someone. He wasn't really dating before the _incident_ , he and Marci were never that good at that and it was kinda hard with the phantom third wheel, his feelings for Matt, and after, well, touching was such an issue. As well as his own mental problems being a rather gigantic cock-block, so yeah, it's been a while. Foggy thought he would never feel comfortable with someone this close again. But not only was he comfortable, he was desperately trying to stay _right where he was._

The last thing Foggy wanted was to break the connection. It was the most like himself he has felt in so long, because he was where his heart has always wanted to be, with the man that will forever _own_ his heart. So he pretended. He acted like he was still hovering in the land of dreams. He should have known that Matt was the one person that would be able to tell the difference, however.

“Foggy?” His voice was heavy with sleep. Thick and husky. The kind of voice Foggy could get used to hearing every morning for the rest of his life.

The couch shifted as he moved closer, the space between them disappearing inch by slow inch. Foggy waited for the tensing, twisting in his muscles to start and was nearly giddy when only a slight twinge nervousness tickled his skin. A good kind of nervousness. The kind he got whenever he thought maybe, just _maybe_ , he and Matt might finally cross that invisible line between friends who would love to be lovers and lovers that were each others best friends. Matt sighed, his thumb tracing Foggy's pulse point. It jumped, racing. Matt laughed softly.

“You know I can tell you're awake and you're faking being asleep still.”

“ 'M not,” Foggy mumbled stubbornly. He was pouting and extremely relieved his friend couldn't see that. “ 'till asleep.”

Matt clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “You know I can tell when you're lying and also,” he rubbed at the vein on his wrist again, causing Foggy to have the same reaction as before with an added one, a not so small amount of arousal. There was a pause in the circular motion, Matt's breathing hitched, “Foggy?”

This time he did open his eyes, looking into the surprised expression on his friend's face. It wasn't a look of displeased shock, but rather pleasant. Matt's hazel pools were soft with adoration. Foggy heart beat ratcheted up another degree. The other man pressed their joint hands over his own heart, which was racing at almost the same pace. Foggy let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding in and smiled brightly. This wasn't the words, the ones that have been said in so many different contexts over the years. No, this was so much more intimate than that, this was a quiet honesty. Words can hide and be misconstrued. The sharing of a heartbeat? No one could fake that. It's how Matt knew when someone was lying. It's how Foggy knew he wasn't. 

“Yes,” he answered. Anyone else would wonder what that 'yes' meant, but not Matt. Matt smiled – no beamed, free and uninhibitedly. He licked his lips and all Foggy wanted to do was lean forward to follow that pink tongue into the dark cavern of his mouth. He cleared his throat, “Always.”

Matt nodded, leaning just a touch closer. Their faces were so close, one more move, a tilt of a head, and they would be joined. Foggy wanted that... and didn't want that all at the same time, because it was one thing to touch, it was another to kiss. 

He wasn't ready. 

He didn't _care_. 

He swallowed every single ounce of panic and closed the distance between them. Their lips met softly, barely open. Foggy's heart slammed double time against his rib cage. So many years of wanting, waiting, dreaming. Matt moaned, pressing his other hand, the one not holding Foggy's against his cheek, sliding slowly up and around to the back of his head. 

That's when the shaking began. His lips stopped moving against Matt's. His stomach dropped out. Tears built behind his eyelids, leaking from the corners. He pushed away, leaping from the couch and bent at the waist. It was too good. Shit he should have known better. He heard Matt move, get up from the couch and start over to him. The tears that were slowly rolling down his cheeks picked up speed, choking off his air. 

“I'm sorry,” he panted through the waves, “I'm so s-s-s-sorry. I shouldn't have--”

“No,” Matt said firmly, or he tried to say it firmly, the word wobbled a bit. Foggy looked up and immediately wished like hell he hadn't. Matt's expression – once soft and happy – now looked devastated and guilty. “I pushed you. I'm the one that's sorry.”

Foggy would have laughed if he wasn't still fighting the urge to throw up. Of course Matt would think it was his fault. Of course he would automatically take Foggy's reaction onto himself. And of course he would be dead wrong, but that wouldn't stop him from mentally flogging the hell out of himself for daring to let broken, lost, stupid Foggy kiss him. Anger finally wiped the nausea away. It boiled over, intense and tangible. It was like another being inside him, fighting for dominance. 

He stood up straight and walked purposefully over to Matt. Matt waited, the hand Foggy had held all night being rubbed over and over again by his other. Once he was only a foot away from his friend, sharing the same space again, he spoke with as much clarity as he could, “Stop blaming yourself for what happened to me.”

“I...”

“No,” Foggy shook his head, “No, this isn't yours to carry. So _f-f-fucking_ stop. I-I-I kissed you. I knew I wasn't ready. I-I-I-I knew that I w-w-was pushing myself too far. I d-d-didn't care. I w-w-wanted you.” Dropping his voice down to a whisper he said, “I've always wanted you.”

Matt opened his mouth then shut it again several times before raising his head and looking Foggy in the eye – or as close as he could get. He seemed to be warring with himself. Say something or not, keep it to himself or ask? Foggy watched the decision get made the moment he made it. “Will you ever been ready for more than friendship? Because I don't care – well that's a lie – I care, but if you aren't than I just want it out there that I will never push you because you mean the world to me and I'll stay just your friend forever. However, if you are at some point, I'll wait.”

“God I hope so,” Foggy admitted, most of the anger ebbing away at his words. He wasn't going to lose Matt. Everything would be alright eventually. “Because that was a G-G-God awful first kiss and I w-w-want a do-over.”

Matt's surprised chuckle made the rest of the fury melt away. “It wasn't that bad.”

“Fuck Matt that was no where near my best,” he huffed. “It wasn't even in the same space as good. I'm a genius at kissing. My tongue is going into the hall of fame, my lips have i-i-inspired poems and songs. I must n-n-not go down like this.”

“Wow,” the other man replied dryly, “And you always say I'm cocky.”

“Not cocky, I'm correct. Ask Marci,” he stopped, “On second thought don't ask Marci because she won't tell you a-a-about me k-k-kissing her lips. She'll talk a-a-about other activities.”

The auburn haired man tilted his head, obviously intrigued, “You a genius at that too?”

His grin was quick and full of confidence, something he hadn't felt in a long time, “Well not to brag but --”

“Oh shut up.” Matt's cheeks flushed and Foggy knew it wasn't from embarrassment. It was from lust. He wanted Foggy to prove his words to be true and damn it all to Hades and Heaven, Foggy wanted to show him just how good he was too. He made a promise with himself right then that one day he would. Clearing his throat Matt smiled, “Want some food?”

Foggy reached out to take Matt's arm, sliding his fingers down to his hand. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

~*~*

Empty containers of Chinese food litter the table between them and hour later. The sun had already began it's slow descent. The sky was splashed with reds, deep golds, oranges and pinks. Foggy reached into the tiny white bag and pulled out the two fortune cookies from it. He turned to Matt, “Want me to read your fortune?”

“Sure,” Matt said rubbing his hands on a napkin to remove some of the orange sauce from them. “Let's see what the fates hold in store for me.”

He cracked open the cookie, pulling out the small strip of paper, “It says, _you will k-k-kiss someone today that is so hot the s-s-s-sun is jealous._ ”

Matt choked on the sip of beer he had taken, “I've never known a fortune to be so accurate.”

Flirting, light and fun with a kernel of truth. This he could do. This was safe. This was _fun_. “Are you calling me hot Mr. Murdock?”

“I thought you were calling yourself hot,” he leaned back against the couch cushions with a devilish grin. “I was merely agreeing.”

“But you _do_ find m-m-m-me to be hot, right counselor?”

“Babe you're on fire,” he tapped his temple and Foggy groaned making Matt laugh.

“That was horrible. A four on the sexy pick up line scale.”

“I'd give it at least a seven point five.”

Foggy side-eyed Matt, a look that was completely lost on him, but absolutely necessary. “Seven point five? H-h-h-how did you come up with that score?”

“Three points for it being true. To me you _are_ on fire. Two and a half points because of the sexy voice used when I said it,” Foggy snorted. “Hey don't knock my sexy voice. It's very effective when used properly.”

“I'm very sorry. P-p-p-please continue.”

“Where was I?”

“I believe five point five.”

“Oh yes,” Matt nodded. “I also receive two points for believing it to be true. I've always found you to be extremely sexy.”

“No you didn't.”

“Yes. I always have.”

“I s-s-seem to recall h-h-hitting on you the v-v-very first day we met. And being shot down.”

Matt's body turned tense, regret creeping into his eyes, “If I could do that day over again,” he held his hand out palm up in an invitation, one Foggy readily accepted. “I would have taken you up on that offer and I would have told you about, everything else, sooner as well.”

Foggy sighed, “While I d-d-didn't relish being rejected, e-e-even if you were p-p-polite about it, I think it was right the way our relationship built. I got to know you and lo- like you the way I needed to without the sex part g-g-getting in the way.”

“The sex part would have been fun. Especially after finals. Great way to celebrate.”

“I remember you celebrating just fine w-w-without me.”

“I wanted it to be with you.”

Foggy smiled softly, “Me too.” Their fingers tightened around each others hands. “As for the other part, I-I-I don't like that y-y-y-you lied. I hate that you didn't trust me, b-b-b-but I don't know exactly how I would have handled it back then. I don't know if I would have taken the n-n-n-news about your abilities better or worse.”

“It could have been worse?” Matt shuddered. “I thought I lost you forever that night. It was one of the most horrible nights of my life, close to the one my dad was murdered and – the one you were taken.”

“Unfortunately,” Foggy sighed. “Yeah i-it could have been. I try to put myself in t-t-that place sometimes, I think – hope – I would have thought it was c-c-cool, but I think it might have made m-m-me guard myself more. I don't know if I would have b-b-been so open with you if I had known then that you could tell every time I lied or what I ate t-t-three days ago or if I'd gotten laid or completely shot down.” He squeezed Matt's hand in his, “When I found out, it hurt like h-h-hell, but by then I c-c-couldn't have walked away from you for the r-r-rest of my life if I tried.”

“I'm glad.” The other man admitted. “That week without you was miserable. I wasn't sure how to function and when I did,” he barked out a laugh. “I was like a zombie. That's what Claire called me. I was dead inside.”

“Yeah, I get that, buddy. Yeah I get that.”

~*~*

Foggy arrived at his home with Artemis almost exactly twenty-four hours after he left. He placed the cat on the floor and toed off his shoes. The sweat from walking the four blocks from the safe house to his home soaking through his light t-shirt. He grimaced. Yanking that over his head and tossing it in the direction of the hamper as he made his way through the small apartment. One thought echoed in his head – shower. He absolutely hated being sweaty, unless he was sweaty with someone after some fun activities and even then he could only stand it so long. 

Pausing at his bathroom, he flicked the switch on and turned the knobs on the shower to start the water. Artemis weaved in and out of his legs, looking up and meowing at him. Foggy smiled, charmed by her so completely he reached down to pick her up and carried her into his bedroom. He quickly moved through his room, grabbing some clothes as he did. He made quick work of his remaining clothes and stepped into the small shower.

The water hitting his shoulders felt like relief. Steady jets thumped against the knots from sleeping on Matt's couch and from the residual angst the kiss caused. Matt and he could be considered denial kings because after the kiss freak out. It got brushed under the rug, settled firmly into the “deal with later” file. They do that a lot. It's easier. But now, when he was by himself, he couldn't stop thinking about the kiss.

Before Matt moved his hand, a normal and natural movement, Foggy was thinking maybe he would be okay, but as soon as he touched his cheek, slid his hand into his hair – it was over. He bent his head and rested his forehead against his arm. He wondered when touch would stop being such a fucking trigger from him. He did fine, after a while, with Matt's hand in his. It almost became an extension of him. He found himself actively reaching for Matt, wanting the warmth of Matt's skin against his own. 

But the hand in his hair – fuck! He couldn't deal with that. It set off so many dark emotions inside him that made his body convulse with panic. And he hated that. Hated that he was still so damaged that he couldn't even enjoy a kiss from the man that he has _wanted_ to kiss since he was twenty-one years old. At the start it had been nice. Matt's lips were firm against his, just the right amount of pressure that made him want to lean in just a little more. It was nice – and he ruined it. 

A thought bounced around in his head and he shivered with it. He had to know who was caught and who wasn't. This would be the final hurtle for him to get better. If those assholes escaped, well, he would constantly look over his shoulder, but he would at least know to look. If they were caught – he would be free. The problem was how was he going to get his answers? He only had vague descriptions of what they looked like. After all the light was so dim in that room and most of the time he was screaming with his eyes closed or fighting to stay (or lose – depending on what was happening) conscious. 

The water started turning chilly on his skin, he jumped a little out of the way of the spray and turned the knobs to off. He reached out blindly for his towel on the rack next to his tiny shower, wrapping it around his body to ward off the shivering. Artemis was sitting on the closed toilet seat watching him as he dried off then got dressed.  
Matt's sweat pants have become his pajamas of choice. One of these days he would ask Matt where he bought them so he could have at least ten more pairs. He would ask but somehow he knew that it wouldn't be the same. They wouldn't be Matt's. They wouldn't be worn in and soft and perfect and remind him of his friend in the way the pair he was wearing did.

Artemis wrapped in and out of his legs, flopping on top of his feet when he moved toward the bedroom. He sighed exasperatedly, but also fondly, at her and picked up his left foot from under her body. She swatted at his heel, not moving from the other foot. Foggy continued to move one foot (and cat flop) at a time, entering his room with a heavy yawn. The couple hours of sleep at Matt's did nothing to wipe away the exhaustion of the past day. It felt like his bones weighed a hundred pounds each and that, plus the realization he came to in the shower, made his bed look like paradise. 

Tomorrow was going to be another big day. Tomorrow was another step in the right direction. Tomorrow...

~*~*

“Matty,” Foggy said as soon as his friend picked up the phone. With it being Sunday, Foggy waited until mass let out at 10:30 before calling. He was the respectful sort. “I need you t-t-to make contact with your – er – c-c-contacts.”

“Um, what?”

“I n-n-need to know i-i-if they got...” he let the sentence trail off.

He really didn't need to continue anyway. Matt understood. Matt always understood him.

“Okay. I can't promise anything,” he sounded like he was promising everything. 

“Thank y-y-you.” Foggy replied with an unsure tone to his voice. This was necessary but could he really do it? Oh God please give him the strength to do it.

~*~*

It was mid-afternoon and the sun felt like it was trying to melt his skin off his bones. Matt stood at his side, gripping his forearm lightly with his cane hanging loosely in the other hand. Foggy's stomach flipped and flopped and he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Matt tightened his hold on his arm.

“You don't have to do this,” he looked almost as uneasy as Foggy felt, but Foggy was sure it was for different reasons. Not everyone in the Avengers knew he was Daredevil and by showing up this way, he was basically announcing it. “We can find another way to find out what you want to know. I could contact Clint tonight while on patrol or we could talk to Steve at the safe house...”

Foggy shook his head, “T-T-This is the only w-w-way. I have to t-t-thank them and I h-h-have to be the one to ask.” He turned his head toward his friend – or maybe potential boyfriend now? He mentally sighed, he still had no idea where they stood, he never did. He just felt like maybe he was closer to figuring it out. They took a giant step on the road to being together and Foggy hoped they stayed the course. “You don't have to c-c-come w-w-with me though. I-I-I know you w-want to keep your secret.”

Matt moved slightly in front of him, sliding his hand from his arm and taking his hand gently, the grip loose in case Foggy got upset. He didn't get upset. He welcomed it. He honestly didn't know if this was just a Matt thing or if he was really getting a handle on the touching freak outs, but he didn't care. Skin to skin. That's the way he had always liked it. It felt like getting a piece of his broken soul back from the clutches of death.

“I don't care if they know who I am,” the other man said fiercely, “I care about you.”

He smiled lovingly at him, “I know you do.”

“You really need to do this, don't you?”

“Yes.”

Matt sighed, pushing the red tinted glasses up the bridge of his nose and nodded, “Okay, let's go.”

~*~*

Natasha Romanoff was as terrifyingly beautiful (and just plain _terrifying_ ) as Foggy always thought she would be in person. Marci, the scariest woman in his life, looked like a baby bunny with big doe eyes compared to this intensely strong woman in front of him. Her eyes were sharp and aware of everything around her. He had no doubt that she knew more about him in the couple minutes that they've been in the same room than people that have been in his life for years. It was unsettling, which he guessed was exactly how she wanted it. If he was a bad guy, in her presence, he would crack like an egg. Hell he would probably confess to killing JFK if she asked, even though he wasn't even born when the assassination actually took place. 

He could actually see it in his mind's eye now, “ _Yes I did it! It was me with the pistol next to the library with Professor Plum!_ ” 

He mentally shook his head and focused completely on the sultry redhead in front of him. The woman that could kill him easily in about three hundred different ways – and if that thought caused him to feel a little faint, well who could really blame him?

“Mr. Nelson,” she said in a measured, calm voice. “Nice to meet you under better circumstances.”

“And while you're conscious,” Clint Barton called from his reclined position against wall next to him. The archer was picking at an apple, seemingly without a care in the world. Foggy wasn't completely fooled. He knew that Hawkeye was not someone to fool around with. He was an Avenger after all and could hold his own against aliens and robots a like. 

By now Foggy was used to tripping over his words, he had come to expect the stammering and even though he hated it, he knew that it was just part of his mind healing. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself. In the presence of the Black Widow and Hawkeye, however, that wasn't what was making him stutter. He was just plain fucking nervous. 

“P-p-p-please call m-m-me F-F-Foggy.” He swallowed hard. “I heard I have you t-t-to t-t-thank for saving me.”

Natasha's blue eyes slid toward Matt, who tensed up next to him. “You're welcome, Foggy. No need to thank us, really. We were,” she paused, as if searching for the right words, “just helping out a colleague.” Her smile, while not warm, also wasn't ice cold either. It was _mild_ for lack of a better description. “And we are glad you are okay.”

“I'm,” he stopped, then shrugged, “g-g-getting there.”

“So,” Clint pushed off the wall, throwing the apple core in the small metal garbage bin, “you come here just to say thanks? Or is there another reason?”

“I need to k-k-know,” he swallowed harshly again, “I-I talked w-w-with D-D-Daredevil. He s-s-said there were t-t-two men that m-m-might have gotten away the night I was r-r-rescued.”

Once again Natasha glanced in Matt's direction, “Did he now?” She smirked, the half smile looked more than a little amused, “Well he was right. Two did get away.”

Foggy's shoulders slumped. Fuck! Matt touched his pulse point on his wrist meaningfully, then slid his hand down to rest against his own.

“But,” Clint continued Natasha's train of thought, “we caught them. They are being held in a very...” he waved his hand, then grinned mischievously, “uncomfortable place.”

“Where,” Matt asked, its the first time he has spoken since they arrived. His voice as tense as his muscles. 

Natasha looked exasperatedly at Clint, then rolled her eyes dramatically, “The men are at a SHIELD facility.”

“SHIELD?” Foggy got a weird feeling, “Wasn't SHIELD proven to be a H-H-Hydra cover?”

“Fucking media,” Clint muttered, angrily, “Not everyone that worked for SHIELD was Hydra. There were and are a lot of good men and women that worked there. Too many of them lost their lives though.” Sadness filled his eyes. “Trust us, this place is _not_ linked to Hydra in any way. Although the two men probably wish it was. The man that runs it was one of Nick Fury's most trusted men.”

“I n-n-need to see them,” Foggy stated firmly.

The two Avengers spoke wordlessly with each other, then Natasha looked him directly in the eyes. “Let me call and see if I can get you a visit. I'm not promising anything.” She stressed pointedly, he nodded quickly and she walked away pulling out her cell phone.

The three men waited in quiet for her to return. Clint shifted his weight back and forth, rocking, studying them. Matt tapped his arm anxiously and Foggy, well Foggy, just kept wondering how the hell his life got so complicated. Finally Clint whistled low and deep.

“So Daredevil's blind,” Matt froze and Foggy closed his eyes tightly. Clint chuckled, “Hey man that's cool.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper, “I heard Hawkeye is mostly deaf and wears hearing aids especially designed by Stark. So I think we got the ' _See No Evil_ ' and ' _Hear No Evil_ ' parts covered. Foggy does that make you, _'Speak No Evil_ '?”

Foggy laughed. Matt sighed and pinched his arm hard, probably for being amused by the archer. He liked Clint. Clint was his kind of people. Bad jokes and all.

~*~*

The SHIELD holding facility was basically a concrete box with more corridors then Foggy could possibility keep track of. Thank God he didn't have to. Walking in front of him was the man Clint told them about, Phil Coulson, who from what Foggy could gather was now director of the, while not as big, still pretty fucking impressive, new SHIELD. Beside him was a tall blonde. Bobbi “Mockingbird” Morse. She was all long legs and fierce intensity. She walked with purpose, her strides quick, her back straight. 

Bobbi kept sneaking glances at Clint, who was doing the same with her. Obviously they knew each other. And from the looks of it, very, very well. It also appeared that whatever they had _did not_ end nicely, but feelings still lingered. Foggy was trying not to think too deeply on that.

“So,” Phil started. “These guys you caught, we've learn quite a lot from them. They had some Hydra connections, but there also seemed to have been part of another group called the Hand. Ever heard of them?”

Foggy shook his head, but Matt replied with a soft, “Yes.”

“Hmm,” Phil nodded, turning down another corridor, Foggy was sure they were never going to get out of this place once they were done. “That would explain some things. They have been very vocal about Daredevil killing, how did they put it, Bobbi?”

“They called it _Black Sky_ ,” she responded.

“Daredevil didn't kill anyone,” Matt ground out. This was obviously hitting a nerve. Foggy did what has become their silent show of support and comfort, touched his pulse point and then slid his hand down to gently hold Matt's.

Phil nodded, his tone stayed colloquial, “I didn't say he did. I'm just telling you, so you can let Daredevil know to be on the look out for more of these type of men, what they believe.” Phil pulled out a thin metal looking thing. It didn't look like a key and from what Foggy could see there wasn't even a hole in the wall, nodding in Foggy and Matt's direction. “If you know who Daredevil is, that is.”

The metal was pushed against a space in the wall that was _not_ there before and a computer panel appeared. Phil quickly typed in a code unlocking whatever was beyond that solid surface, which it turns out wasn't so solid after all. A huge metal and glass door revealed itself and this time Bobbi used a key to unlock it. She pushed the door aside allowing them entry. Foggy craned his neck, looking down another corridor, this one lined with glass rooms. His insides did a severe flip. This was a bad idea. Huge. One he might not live through.

“I would probably suggest, Mr. Murdock,” Phil nodded in Matt's direction again, “stay behind.”

“I'm not leav-”

“I'll b-b-be alright,” Foggy assured him. He lied through his teeth. He wasn't sure he would be alright at all, but he prayed just this once Matt would let the lie stand without question. “I'll have two Avengers and two SHIELD agents with me,” he continued to persuade. Matt hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. Foggy let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in and nodded to the others. “Lead the way.”

~*~*

The glass rooms were prisons. Inside he could see various men and women and – um – other _things_. Shit really? He remembered when he really thought all this stuff was Sci-Fi. Cool shit in comic books. Or on a “B” movie on the SyFy network. None of it was supposed to be real. And if it was, he was supposed to be blissfully unaware. But that went out the window in a rather spectacular fashion when the sky literally opened up and spewed down alien hell beasts, known by all on the earth to be the Chitauri, and a previously thought to be only a mythical Norse God decided that humans were ants to be squished. 

Foggy will never squish an ant again. Or at least he will try not to. It's not fun being on the other side of that particular boot.

Phil and Bobbi finally stopped at one of the cells and turned to look at him. “They can't see you right now. Do you want to keep it that way or...?” Bobbi let the question trail off.

He took a deep breath and shook his head, “Can I just look right now? I-I-I'm not, I-I-I m-m-mean, I-I-I...”

Natasha placed a hand on his forearm gently. He recoiled slightly, but she hung on until he relaxed enough to breathe normally. “Just breathe. We're here with you and I know you're friend down the hall will be here in an instant if things turn sideways. Which,” her voice turned steely, “it won't.”

He nodded, reminding himself she knew three hundred plus ways to kill. Foggy closed his eyes and turned toward the cell. A hulking man with sandy blonde hair, cut short with thick sideburns, sat in a chair on the other side. His face a mask of anger with a defiant smirk just visible around his lips. He was wearing a jump suit with a number sewed on the front left pocket. His arms crossed over his chest. In a second Foggy recognized him. It was Greasy Hands. Oh God! Foggy felt sick. He had never actually _seen_ him, but still deep down a pit opened up. He knew.

“Did ya bring me my songbird,” he grinned, leaning forward. “My little light?”

Foggy turned swiftly to the group, “You s-s-said he c-c-couldn't s-s-see?!?!”

Bobbi nodded, “He can't. But we think he can sense presences. That's how he knows we're here. He just doesn't know _who_. We also think that's how he knew you were about to be rescued.”

“How did you catch him then?”

“He was drunk,” Phil supplied. “Guess that dulls even the most super of senses.”

Foggy wasn't sure about that. Matt never seemed to have a problem, but then again, Matt's special, he always has been and always will be. 

“Turn on t-t-the screen or whatever it is,” he said resigned.

“You really don't have to,” Clint stepped forward next to Bobbi, she swayed a little toward him, barely noticeable. “Being here, so close to him, that's brave enough.”

“This isn't a-a-about bravery,” Foggy insisted. “I-I-It's about s-s-showing him,” he pointed to the man in the glass cage, “that I-I-I s-s-survived. He d-d-didn't fucking win.”

Phil waited another second then nodded, “Alright then.” He pressed several buttons on the panel next to the large front window and it shuddered, tiles blinked and folded into each other, leaving behind only crystal clear glass. The man, Greasy Hands grinned.

“Ah, my songbird,” he crowed cheerfully. “I have missed you.”

“Can't say the same,” Foggy said evenly. He would not stutter in front of his asshole.

His smile grew even larger, “Always so stubborn. You,” he stood from his chair and Foggy had to force his legs to stay where they were. He couldn't actually touch him and he wasn't going to show the fear he felt now. “Were my favorite _guest_ I've ever had. Your screams were so pretty. Music to my ears.”

“You have poor taste in music.”

“Do I,” he stood directly in front of Foggy. His tongue curled out to wet his lips. “I still sing your song, my birdie.”

“Not mine,” he gritted through his teeth. “You can keep it.”

“I will.” Greasy Hands rubbed his stomach as if he was hungry. “I'll keep that and my memories of you.”

Foggy was fighting hard not to vomit. This was a bad idea chanted in his head. What was he accomplishing by being here, standing eye to eye with the monster under his bed? Then, suddenly, something fell into place. He _wasn't_ vomiting. He _was_ fighting it, yes, but he _was_ winning. He _was_ scared, terrified, but he wasn't _running_. He _was_ looking the bogy man in the eye – staring him down and he wasn't _breaking_. Foggy let a slow grin curl his lips. He wasn't completely healed, but he wasn't broken anymore either. Just cracked. And cracks can be _mended_.

The smile threw the other man off his game, which Foggy realized this was – a game. He expected Foggy to cry, scream, crumble, but he wasn't. And that made _him_ uneasy. The tables were turning.

“You can have your memories,” Foggy took a small step forward. Not enough to get anywhere near the glass, but enough to show that he knew he _finally_ had the upper hand. “And I'll keep the knowledge that you will never be free from this prison with me. Fuck off asshole,” he nodded toward Phil, who nodded back and activated the wall again.

“You will always remember me!” the villain said, anger pulsating his words. “You will never be the same! You will always be my songbird!”

Foggy moved a little to the side and slid down the wall, resting his head in his hands. He shook and tears prickled the back of his eyes. He did it. He couldn't believe he did it. The relief and residual anxiety mixed in his blood stream making him feel light headed. He actually faced his nightmare and won. A laugh bubbled up in his throat, tickling him. 

“I can see,” Natasha said sliding down the wall next to him, “why Daredevil likes you so much.” He glanced at her and saw a small but genuine smile on her face. “You are very brave, Foggy Nelson.”

“Thanks,” he whispered back. She nodded. He licked his lips, “So I wasn't lying right? He is n-n-never getting out o-o-of there right?”

“Oh no,” Bobbi grinned, “He's there for a very, very long time.”

“Good,” Foggy said. “That's what he deserves.”

~*~*

“You're giddy,” Matt said as they hailed a cab from the Avengers tower.

“Am I?”

“Mm-hmm,” Matt nodded a grin on his face. “It's a good look on you.”

“Like you would know,” Foggy grumbled playfully. 

“I know.” The other man smiled fondly.

Foggy took Matt's hand in his when the cab pulled up to the curb, “Today's a good day.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” he opened the door and Matt climbed in with him following. “I f-feel like maybe I'm g-g-going to be a-alright.” He turned his head toward Matt and squeezed his hand. “I have my guardian devil for that.”

Matt laughed, “Guardian devil. That's a new one.”

Foggy hummed and gave Matt's apartment address to the cab driver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: I am one of the few people that really, really love Bobbi and Clint together. LOL If you watch Agents of SHIELD, you know that Bobbi is with Hunter and Clint is married (spoilers for Avengers 2...oops) I don't support this. ;) To me, Bobbi and Clint were great together in the comics. Second pick for Clint is definitely Black Widow. Also I adore Phil Coulson. <3 I hope you liked their quick cameos.


	10. Finally Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the end. I hope you have enjoyed the ride. Thank you to all that have taken it with me. This chapter took me forever to write because I'm honestly sorry to see it end. I haven't decided if there will be an epilogue or not so I'm going to say it's ending here for now. Once again thank you to all that subscribed, read, took time to leave kudos and left comments. You all have made this experience a great one.

~*~*

That following Tuesday, Foggy sat with Doctor Samson in his office and told him about everything that had happened that weekend. Well almost everything. He left out the sleeping at Matt's, holding Matt's hand all night and the kiss that led to another of his wonderful freak outs. He wanted to focus on the _“hey man I've made progress”_ part of the program. Not to mention, he still hadn't worked out what it all meant yet.

“You've been busy,” Doctor Samson smiled from his chair across from him, several minutes later. His pen tapped lightly against the notepad on his lap. “I didn't expect you to want to see the men that hurt you or rather I did, I just didn't expect it so soon.”

“Soon,” Foggy scoffed softly. “It's been a year. That is hardly what I-I w-would call a short amount of time.”

“In the grand scheme of things, it really is. I have seen patients go a lifetime without ever being able to face the things or people that haunt them. It takes a lot of courage to do that and some never quite find that within themselves.”

“I was highly m-m-motivated.”

“Matt?”

“He didn't push me, i-i-if that's what you t-t-think.” Foggy said, straightening up in his seat readying for a fight. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up like Artemis's when she was upset about something. “Matt would never f-f-force me to do something I wasn't ready for, e-e-especially something like facing that man.”

Samson raised his hand, his face a mild mask of kindness. “I never suggested he would, nor do I think he would. I was merely asking if that was _your_ motivation.” He leaned forward. “We have discussed your feelings for him in the past and you have many entries in your notebooks about wanting to be with him in a more physical way, so I assumed that might be a factor in your decision to take this enormous step. Forgive me if I fell into the old assuming trap, making an ass out of myself.”

Foggy chuckled a little to himself, embarrassed by his own bout of falling into the assuming trap. “You didn't. I-I-I do think he was a big part of my d-d-decision, but not all of it.” He sighed deeply, rubbing his hands on the material of his pants. “I'm sick of being scared of my own shadow and a-a-always wondering i-i-if they are watching or not. I w-w-wanted closure.”

“But you only saw one of them,” Samson took a sip from his coffee mug, holding it in his hands. “What about the other man that caused you such harm, don't you want closure with him as well?”

Foggy nodded, “I do and I will, but I-I-I faced the one that I was m-m-most afraid of that day. Sir Greasy Hands w-w-was the one that r-r-really messed me up. The s-scars from McGrouchy Fuck healed a l-little quicker. But y-yes, I do want to s-s-show him as well that he didn't take me down. I-I-I'm stronger than they are.”

The green haired man grinned in a way Foggy hadn't seen before. Yes the man has smiled, joked and even laughed, but this grin was one of pure pride. It lit his face, radiated from his body and engulfed the room with joy. The man placed his coffee mug back down on the small end table next to him and leaned back, completely relaxed. 

“You know,” he started, “in all the months you've been coming to see me, that is the first time you have acknowledged that you are strong. It's the first time that you've seen that you _are_ stronger than those men and what happened to you. I'm glad you are finally started to embrace that, because its the truth.”

Foggy stared blankly at the floor between his feet, a smile curling his own lips. He hadn't even thought about the fact that he called _himself_ that. It hadn't even entered his mind that he was or felt like he could be. But now that he really let the word settle on his tongue, he knew something had changed. Huh. He looked back up at Doctor Samson, whose jade eyes were watching him happily. There was an answering happiness budding in his soul. 

“I didn't even think about it,” he admitted softly. “I've s-s-spent so much time t-t-thinking of myself as nothing, that I wasn't worth anything, that t-t-the world would be a better place without me in it. That m-my friends deserved better than this,” he waved his hand toward himself, “I-I-I didn't even realize I h-had started to value m-myself again. When d-did that happen?”

“I don't know,” the psychiatrist replied. “But I'm glad you are valuing yourself more now. Foggy you have always been worth more than you gave yourself credit for. You're friends and family and even those of us that have just met you, all see that and it's about time you saw that as well.”

“I'm not there yet,” the younger man said hesitantly. “I still have a l-l-lot of w-w-work to do. I know that.”

“Yes,” Doctor Samson nodded, “but that could be said for all of us. We are all works in progress. We all have things that we need to face and overcome. The fact that you are taking the steps to do that says more about you then you realize.”

Foggy nodded, fighting with the smile that wanted to break out on his face. Another slice of his soul stitched itself back in place. He sighed. It felt good to feel _good_ for a change. He looked at the other man, “Same time next week.”

Doctor Samson smiled, “I'll be here.”

~*~*

The next day, Foggy walked into the Nelson and Murdock offices early with the singular focus of talking to Karen. He hadn't really gotten a chance to sit down with her in a while. It hurt him to think that he was neglecting his friendship with her because of his _issues_ and because of his growing closeness with Matt. It wasn't fair to her, especially since she was the one that really pushed him the hardest to get the help he needed, even when he fought her tooth and nail every step of the way. Without Karen, he honestly didn't know where he would be, but he knew he wouldn't be in the place he was now.

Foggy juggled the gifts he had for her while fishing out his keys. As he fumbled and cursed and nearly dropped everything in his hand, he came to the very obvious conclusion he could never be a circus performer if it meant mastering the art of balancing a bunch of shit. Another childhood dream crushed. He grinned triumphantly once he managed to get the key in the lock and the door opened without catastrophe. Score one for Nelson!

The door swung back close behind with a gentle kick of his foot, Foggy clutched his prizes to his chest, moving toward Karen's tidy desk. He placed the bag of freshly baked blueberry and chocolate chip mini muffins on the cheap, chipped plywood surface and placed the chai tea latte next to her date book. He pulled out his own double- shot- of- espresso- plus- triple- shots- of- mocha-, drink- this- and- you'll- be- up- for- days-, but- he- is- so- immune- he'll- have- to- get- another- in- two- hours coffee and waited for her to arrive.

Karen stumbled in at seven forty five and jumped at the sight of him waiting for her at her desk. “Hey Foggy,” she said uncertainly. “You're here early.” She sniffed the air, a slow grin curling her cherry lips, “Are those mini muffins?”

Foggy nudged the bag in her direction, “They are. Blueberry and chocolate c-c-chip.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed, walking over to her roller chair and taking one of the tiny muffins out like it was a Tiffany's ring. Her eyes shut in bliss as she bit into the treat. “So good.”

“There is also a c-c-chai tea latte f-f-for you as well.”

The blonde eyed him as she took the take-away cup filled with her favorite morning drink, “Am I being fired?”

“What?! Why w-w-would you ask that?”

She shrugged, settling more comfortably in her seat. “Just checking. It's rare I get so many treats on a random morning for no reason.”

“There is a reason,” he told her softly, placing his coffee on the desk. “It's a t-t-thank you and an a-a-apology for being such a b-b-bad friend.”

“What? No, you weren't,” she shook her head.

“Yes I have b-b-been.” He sighed, reaching across the desk to touch her hand, “And you've b-b-been the friend that I needed most during one of the worst times of my life. One of m-m-my best f-f-friends.”

“Matt's your best friend,” her voice shook a little, tears gathering at the base of her eyes, making her lashes glisten with water. “He always has been and he always will be.”

“Yes,” Foggy nodded, “but w-w-when it comes to m-m-me, when f-f-feeling guilty, h-he has a b-b-b-b-blind spot.” He paused and groaned, “That was a b-b-b-bad unintentional pun, don't t-t-tell Matt. He'll never let me live it down. What I mean is y-y-you had to be the one that forced me t-t-to get help. You h-h-had to be my v-v-voice of reason and I know I didn't make it easy for you.”

Karen picked her muffin apart, “I didn't do anything major. In fact what I did was sort of selfish. I wanted my friend back. I missed you.”

“Yes you d-d-did do something major,” he gripped her hand, making her jump in shock. 

“Foggy?”

“I c-c-can touch,” he smiled a little, “not a-a-a lot but a little m-m-more than before. That's b-b-because of you. Matt would h-h-have let me d-d-deny I needed help because he was and is so guilty over what h-h-happened to me, h-h-he wouldn't have pushed me the w-w-way I needed to be pushed. You did,” Foggy squeezed her fingers then let go. “I needed someone in my life that was willing to b-b-be the bad guy, someone that w-w-would tell me the harsh truth.”

“Matt would have eventually...”

“Maybe, but only after he got over his feelings of l-l-letting me d-d-down.” He chuckled bemused, “If t-t-that's even possible.” They shared a small smile and drank their beverages in silence for a moment before Foggy opened his mouth to approach another Matt related topic. “Matt d-d-didn't mean to hurt you by keeping the Daredevil secret.”

“He did though,” Karen tucked some hair behind her ear, bending her head down to avoid his eyes. “He shouldn't have kept me in the dark, neither of you should have, I had a right to know that he was the one that saved me. That he was the one I was gushing over all the time like some high school girl and making a fool of myself about.”

“You did have the right to know,” he acknowledged, “but I c-c-couldn't be the one to tell you. It was Matt's secret and he wasn't ready to share it. With anyone.”

“You knew,” she accused, then blushed. “Sorry.”

He shrugged, unconcerned by the slight bitterness in her tone. After all he understood her anger over the big bomb. “The w-w-way I found out was w-w-worse than the way you did, n-n-not that I'm c-c-comparing Daredevil r-r-reveal horror stories, but it wasn't like he told me.”

“How _did_ you find out then?” She licked her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth. “I assumed you knew from the start or at least close to it.”

“I found him,” he closed his eyes against the memory. It still made his stomach drop open. “He was in the b-b-black mask and half d-d-dead. More than h-h-half. P-p-probably three f-f-fourths on his way to there. He was b-b-bleeding out and t-t-trying his best to d-d-die on his floor in front of me.” He held the coffee cup in his hands, desperately seeking the warmth that was once coming off of it. He was suddenly so fucking cold. “He barely survived. I w-w-was pissed and scared and hurt and p-p-pissed and frustrated and pissed.”

“You said that already,” she grinned a little. “Twice.”

“It deserves to be s-s-said more than once,” Foggy grumbled.

“This was what that fight was about, when you wouldn't talk to him and Matt said it was his fault, wasn't it?” Foggy nodded. “Well at least it makes sense now. How did you find it in yourself to forgive him after he lied to you for so long?”

He sighed, resigned and fond, “Because he didn't do it to be a jack ass. He was always t-t-taught to keep what he can d-d-do a secret. Old h-h-habits die hard.” Foggy started to smile, “Plus he's a wounded w-w-wayward duck and n-n-needs to be loved,” Karen looked at him weirdly. Foggy just shook his head again, “Long story, but h-h-he really is _trying_ to help in a different way. He didn't want his secret night profession, and y-y-yes I'm aware I just made it sound like he was a h-h-hooker,” she snorted and he grinned a little more, “hurt you or cause you to be a target.”

“It made you a target.”

“Yeah, but s-s-so does b-being a b-b-bad defense attorney.”

“You are anything but a bad defense attorney.”

“Aw,” he waved his hand at her, “you're making me blush.” She threw her wadded up napkin at his face. “Anyway, Matt didn't mean to hurt you. He's just,” he shrugged. “A stupid dumb ass that d-d-doesn't realize that w-w-we deserve to make our own choice about w-w-whether we want Daredevil in our lives. Which I do. Stupid horns and all,” he looked pointedly at Karen. “Do you?”

She opened her mouth to answer just as the door to their office opened. Matt walked in with a poorly constructed mask of innocence. Karen raised her eyebrow at Foggy who sighed. It was hard for him not to love the big, dumb dork, even when he was blatantly trying to appear as if he wasn't listening to their conversation for blocks. 

“Did I interrupt something,” Matt asked once the door was shut.

Foggy rolled his eyes, “You k-k-know damn well what we w-w-were talking about.”

Karen sighed, “Yes.” Foggy tilted his head and Matt put his cane in front of him like a shield. “Yes I want him in my life, but I reserve the right to call him a selfish jack ass whenever the situation calls for it.”

“I think that's fair-” Foggy said at the same time Matt replied with, “That's a little harsh-”

Matt looked in Foggy's direction, “Fair?”

“You deserve i-i-it sometimes M-M-Matty,” he grinned, “Tough love.”

“Geez thanks,” Matt said deadpanned.

~*~*

A month and a half later Foggy was back in the labyrinth at the Shield facility with Matt, Bobbi and Phil at his side. He shifted his weight back and forth, side to side. The blonde stood silently, letting him call the shots. He rubbed his hands over each other, then down his face. Phil watched him, observing his nervous actions. Foggy wished like hell he would stop. It made him want to jump out of his skin.

“I know we said this the first time you came here,” the older man started, “but it bares repeating, you don't have to do this.”

Foggy nodded, “I know.” He forced his energy to dwindle a little, “but it k-k-kinda is. I d-d-don't want anything unfinished w-w-with these bastards. Seeing M-M-McGrouchy Fuck is the final nail.” He looked around him. He was still pretty lost but he was almost sure they were facing the other way the last time they opened the prison wally door thing. “W-W-Weren't w-w-we somewhere else the last time?”

“This hall in in the E wing.” Bobbi explained. “Last time we were in the L. The cells can be viewed from different locations.” A small bright, slightly unnerving, smile curled the corners of her mouth. “It keeps them,” she pointed to the wall with her finger, “guessing. It helps with interrogations. If they don't know where or when you're coming they are constantly on edge.”

“And that's a-a-a good thing,” Foggy swallowed against the knot in his chest. _Was that what my and Bucky's kidnappers thought? Is that how they handled us? Keep me guessing, never letting me relax because I didn't know what was going to happen next?_ His heart stopped. Because, yeah, that's about how it was. For the first time he felt sick not because of what happened to him or because of who was behind that wall, but because he realized that he was almost alright with them getting that kind treatment. And that realization didn't quite sit right with him. 

Phil cleared his throat and Foggy got the impression that his emotions played clearly on his face because Phil said, “No. It's not.” He locked eyes with Foggy and spoke with conviction, “But the truth is, these people in here are not with us because they were speeding or because they robbed a store. Those criminals are handled by the brave police officers that put their lives on the line everyday. The ones we have to keep on edge are people with abilities and or are willing to use other means that can't be dealt with normally to cause others harm. These people in those cells could and would wipe millions of people off the planet to get what they want. That's why we do what we do.”

“The men that kidnapped m-m-me weren't like that,” Foggy had no fucking idea why he was even slightly defending their rights. Maybe it was ingrained so deeply that everyone deserved a fair trial that he would even go to the mat for _them_. “They o-o-only h-h-hurt me.”

“As far as I'm concerned,” Matt finally spoke up with his gravelly, harsh voice, “that's more than enough reason for them to be locked up in here.”

“It isn't,” Foggy stressed. 

“Well,” Bobbi crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes snapping coolly in his direction, “If that isn't enough, then how about the fact that one of them has special abilities that helped in your capture and captivity, the other has killed at least three hundred people that we can connect to him in less than humane ways, torturing countless more and they are both linked to at least two terrorist organizations that plan to take over the world and cause harm to innocent people.”

Foggy blanched. He had forgotten that part. These men weren't drunks that accidentally burned down their home or a criminal that wasn't truly that bad and needed protection from an nefarious group. No these assholes were evil, they were _part_ of the nefarious group. It wasn't just about him and the fact that he made it that way caused the bagel he had forced down earlier to start a slow march back up his throat.

Bobbi rolled her shoulders back, “I'm not trying to be mean, but you have to understand we don't take this lightly.”

“I do u-u-understand,” Foggy whispered. “I-I-I'm sorry. I just -”

“You're just a really damn good defense attorney as well as a really good guy,” she smiled slowly, the tension evaporating. “And if I was in trouble I know that you would give me your best.”

Foggy really tried not to blush. He failed. Miserably. He looked over at Matt who was smirking at him. He desperately wanted to punch that look right off his face – or kiss him senseless. Foggy definitely preferred option _b_ to option _a_. More blood rushed to his cheeks – damn it! 

Matt wrapped his hand around his wrist at the pulse and his fingers tapped the skin in time with his heartbeat, which increased with every touch. His partner leaned toward him a little, their shoulders brushing. Foggy licked at his dry lips and nodded toward Bobbi and Phil. “I'm ready.”

“Mr. Murdock, we'll be b-”

“I'm going this time,” Matt's tone was steely. No argument from any one in the room was going to change it and honestly, Foggy wanted him there this time. Foggy wanted him there to help calm him. He wanted Matt by his side, period.

“Okay then,” Bobbi nodded, “let's go.”

~*~*

The man was walking around the cell, like a tiger looking for a weakness to escape. His jet black hair was longer than Foggy thought it would be, but then again it had been a year almost since they had been in the same room. He was shorter than Greasy Hands. Stocky, thick. A jagged scar was visible on his face, starting at just under his left eye and curling roughly to his top lip. He looked just as Foggy imagined he would. This was how a nightmare should appear. Gnarly and fearsome.

“He c-c-can't see me,” Foggy asked, already knowing the answer.

“No,” Phil supplied anyway.

“I want him to,” Foggy squared his shoulders. “I want to b-b-be able to s-seeing his face when he realizes I'm not falling apart like his p-p-partner did.”

He can't say it's pride in Phil Coulson's face he saw, he doesn't know the man well enough to claim that, but he does want to believe it was. This man, who had been one of the triggering factors in the start of the Avengers (Foggy did a little digging on Phillip Coulson – what can he say, he was curious by nature), was looking at _him_ with satisfaction. That meant something to Foggy. The older man pressed the necessary code into the wall panel and the wall folded in on itself to reveal clear glass. The tiger stopped. His jaw clenching and unclenching then his eyes (goldish brown, they would almost be pretty if the man with them wasn't so fucking terrifying) settled on Foggy. He stalked closer to the glass, his mouth raising up in a half smile.

“Mr. Nelson,” and didn't that send a shiver down his spine. “It's been too long. It's good to see you.”

In some ways, Foggy was taken aback by the calm this bastard showed. In the sessions he was the one that was ferocious in his manner. He was never calculating and calm, glee rolled off him in waves. He lived for the blood and the pain. The other man was the collected one. It unsettled Foggy more than he wanted to admit that they had switched personalities and he unknowingly curled his pinky around Matt's to center him and gain courage.

“The feeling is not mutual,” the sense of deja vu was eerie. This was how the other conversation started. 

“I bet,” amused. He was so fucking amused. His eyes trailed across him like he was remembering all the scars he placed there. He stopped at Foggy's hip. He smiled turned sinister, “Did Daredevil see my little present for him?”

“What present would that be,” Foggy spoke slowly, having a bad feeling he knew where this was going and not liking the direction very much. Matt tensed at his side. His body going as tight as a bow string.

“I branded his little pet lawyer for him,” McGrouchy Fuck chuckled darkly, “now everyone will now you are nothing but a bitch to the devil. I bet he enjoyed seeing his mark on your skin.”

Matt growled low next to him. Only Foggy heard, but he knew it wouldn't be long before the asshole on the other side of the glass connected the sound and the man together. Foggy held tighter to his hand and tried to gain control of the situation. Maybe he should have fought harder with Matt to stay away and wait for him to return. 

“I don't know who Daredevil is,” Foggy lied cleanly. “So I can't say he knows what the hell happened to me. He's a busy man after all. And I'm just a broke defense a-a-attorney in Hell's Kitchen.”

“No,” the tiger beyond the glass narrowed his eyes, “No, you are more than that. You are the one person he doesn't want to live without. Why do you think we took you? We knew you are his weak spot. Should have killed you.”

“Are you confessing,” Bobbi cooed at him with more than a tint of danger in her honey voice.

“I confess to making the world know that this,” he waved at Foggy, “ _man_ is daredevil's pet. Beyond that, I don't know what you want me to confess. You already know about me.” He gold eyes sharpened on Foggy again. “I did have fun with you. Breaking you down was, how do you American's say, a blast.”

“I'm not broken down,” Foggy grinned, once again lying with ease. Although this wasn't a full lie. He wasn't broken down...anymore. “I'm doing fine.”

“Are you,” the black haired man clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “next time I'll do better.”

“You really think there will be a next time,” Foggy's heart ratcheted up a notch. Panic, cold and hard, curled around his stomach, but he tried to appear calm.

“I don't intend to be in here long. After all it's only been a couple weeks. Soon I will be free, they will come for us.”

Foggy nearly laughed out loud at that. He didn't know. Time does move differently for someone that is trapped. Foggy remembered that. This jack ass had no idea that it's been months. He finally had leverage.

“Hey asshole,” he snarled, “it hasn't been weeks.” Foggy paused, letting that sink in before hitting him with the hammer. “It's been months. Almost a year. No one is coming. Because you are nothing. The ones you worked for don't care that you've been caught because you are _their _bitch. Easily replaced.”__

__The guy on the other side of the glass growled. Angry, rushing for the glass. His eyes flashed. The calm was gone replaced by rage. Foggy should have felt sick at his words, at the reaction, but he didn't. He never claimed to be sweet and innocent. He _liked_ that the last thing McGrouchy Fuck saw before Phil activated the wall again was Foggy's smug grin._ _

__But as soon as the wall was solid again, Foggy felt like he had gone ten rounds with the Hulk and sagged, tired. He looked up at Matt and his heart stopped. His partner's expression was pained and tense. “What's w-w-wrong Matty?”_ _

__“The brand,” his friend's voice was rough, heavy with emotions. He was backing away, putting physical distance between them._ _

__Foggy straightened up and walked to his friend. “Stop Matty,” he commanded. “S-s-so help me God, if you skip down the guilt brick road...” He let the threat drop._ _

__“How about we get out of here,” Phil said leading them away. Foggy could feel Matt close up even more on him as they left the facility and sighed frustratedly. He really shouldn't have let Matt come with him._ _

__~*~*_ _

__The weeks following his run in with his kidnapper were tense. And awkward. Matt was more stoic. He didn't come to Foggy's apartment at night after patrol as much and if he did he was careful with him. He wouldn't look him in the eyes – er – the face. Karen rolled her eyes at them and Foggy grew more and more pissed off. He worked so hard to get to a point where he could be happy; happy with _Matt_ and now the doofus was falling away from him._ _

__Whenever Foggy tried to corner Matt, he would have an excuse ready. It really sucked having a friend with the ability to hear, smell and sense you coming from a block (or several) away. If he could manage to get him alone, Matt always averted their conversations from _“Why are you being such a dick”_ to Bucky's case, which was heading to trial very soon. _ _

__The transition was so smooth at times, Foggy had to be impressed. So he bit his lip and waited him out. It was something he had learned to do from the first moment they met. Eventually Matt would have to face him. Eventually he would have to talk with him._ _

__Right?_ _

__~*~*_ _

__“He's an idiot!” Foggy raged, pacing back and forth in Doctor Samson's office a month after going to see McGrouchy Fuck. “He is such fucking, excuse my verbiage, idiot!”_ _

__“Would you care to explain that?”_ _

__“He's pulling a-a-away from me. Because of something that M-M-McGrouchy Fuck said. And did. He did something to get under his skin and now he is c-c-completely backing away f-f-from me.” Foggy dropped to the couch his whole body tense. “I k-k-k-knew this would happen. B-B-But I thought I would end up being the one to back away. M-M-Matt's such an idiot.” He really couldn't say that enough._ _

__“Matt's backing away from you how?”_ _

__“He's,” Foggy sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. “We were heading o-o-one direction and now he i-i-is just f-f-frozen. I get it. I-I-It's him. Matt thinks too m-m-much sometimes. He just won't trust that I want to be with him, especially now. I-I-It's frustrating and sometimes I want to kick him in the shin.”_ _

__Samson chuckled at that, “I don't think violence is the answer.”_ _

__“No,” Foggy leaned his head back against the top of the couch cushion, “but it would make me feel better.” He closed his eyes, “I'm f-f-finally in a good p-p-place, not a p-p-perfect one, b-b-but a good one and I can't seem to get him to understand that I d-d-don't blame him and I want to be with him.”_ _

__“You've talked with him?”_ _

__“Well, not really.” Foggy looked back at the green haired man, “We dance around it. O-o-o-or really Matt dances around _me_.”_ _

__“If he was sitting here, in my seat, what would you say to him.”_ _

__“I don't feel like...” he said uncomfortable._ _

__“You don't have to say the words out loud,” Doctor Samson soothed, “just think about it, what would you say?”_ _

_I'd tell him I love him and I want to be with him._ Foggy thought. 

__“Have you got your argument formed?”_ _

__“The best one I have,” Foggy smiled. “Let's h-h-hope I can sway the judge to s-s-see things my way.”_ _

__“From what I've heard, Foggy, you can be very persuasive.”_ _

__“We're a-a-about to f-f-find out,” he stood up, gathering his stuff and walked to the door. “I'll see you next week.”_ _

__~*~*_ _

__Foggy sat on Matt's couch much later that evening. He needed this settled. He was sick of walking on egg shells because of Matt's guilt. They've wasted too much time on that and he's ready to finally start moving forward. Artemis curled against his side, her head resting on his thigh as he idly petted her silky fur. He started working on his opening argument while he waited. Matt always told him that he had the best opening lines in all of law school. He knew how to hook them and now he was counting on being able to hook Matt._ _

__All he had was what he felt. He loved Matt. He was tired of living for the future. He wanted them to live in the now and together... well not _together_ together, but as a team in every way. They were better together. Matt had to remind him of that not too long ago and now it was his turn. He wasn't going to let Matt lose faith in them because of some sick bastard. That damn brand wasn't going to come between them. Foggy wasn't going to let it._ _

__The latch to the roof entrance opened and Daredevil stumbled in. He paused halfway in the room, his body tensing visibly. “Foggy.”_ _

__“You knew I was here,” Foggy forced the words to steady on his tongue. “You know why I'm here.”_ _

__Matt walked past him into the kitchen area, pulling some of his costume off as he went, “I'm not really...”_ _

__“I don't care,” Foggy eased Artemis to the side and followed the vigilante. “We have to talk about this.”_ _

__“What's there to say,” Matt demanded, slamming down the beer bottle he just opened onto the counter. “You were kidnapped because you are my weakness, they branded you like cattle because they think of you as my pet and you lost a year of your life because I'm too fucking stubborn to stop being Daredevil.”_ _

__“That's all true,” he acknowledged, easing next to him and placing his hands on Matt's face, “except for that last one. It's t-t-true I haven't b-b-been completely together, b-b-b-but I realized something these p-p-past couple of months.”_ _

__“What's that?”_ _

__Foggy eased closer, “I'm stronger than t-t-them and I-I-I'm even better with you at my side. You are the reason I-I-I made it this past year.” He removed one of his hands from Matt's face. Wrapping his fingers around Matt's wrist he raised his hand to his heart, placing their joined hands together on his chest. Matt swallowed. “You f-f-feel my heart?”_ _

__“Yes,” Matt whispered, leaning towards him._ _

__“You know I'm not lying,” Foggy licked his lips. “I-I-I need you to feel it as well as hear it when I tell you this,” he took a deep breath and jumped into the deep end of pool. “I'm in love you, Matthew Murdock, Daredevil, Devil of H-H-Hell's Kitchen. And I'm n-n-not going t-t-t-to let you run from that because o-o-of something you c-c-can't change.”_ _

__“I,” Matt started but Foggy placed a single finger on his lips._ _

__“C-C-Counsel isn't finished,” Foggy smiled at Matt's slow grin. “I k-k-know I'm not fixed c-c-completely yet. But I also know w-w-with you by my side I-I-I'll get there.” He paused, “ _I_ don't work without _you_.” Matt's mouth formed an “O”. He recognized his own words parroted back to him. “Stop blaming yourself.”_ _

__“Can I talk now,” Matt asked with a smirk._ _

__“Please do counselor,” Foggy indulged him._ _

__“I'm in love you too,” Matt rested his forehead against Foggy's. “I don't want to live without you either. I need you Foggy. I always have, but I hate that they hurt you because of me and I don't know how you can forgive me for that when I can't forgive myself.” He sighed entangling himself from Foggy and moving a couple steps away._ _

__“God you are a d-d-dumb ass,” Foggy breathed._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Haven't we already been d-d-down this road? I n-n-never forgave you be-be-because I never blamed you.” He closed the distance again. “So once a-a-again I ask you to stop b-b-blaming yourself! You sometimes m-m-make me want to hit you ups-s-side the head,” Foggy took Matt's face in his hands. “But what I want more than that,” He leaned closer, “I want to k-k-kiss you.”_ _

__“Foggy,” Matt's unseeing eyes started to slide shut. “Please don't push yourself. If you aren't read-”_ _

__“Matty,” Foggy smiled against his lips, “shut up.”_ _

__Matt pouted for a second before Foggy settled his lips on Matt's. The kiss was soft and timid at first. Both were aware of what happened the last time. In fact it wasn't really a kiss at all, just two pairs of lips pressed together. Foggy sighed mentally and took the first step. He opened his mouth, gently pulling Matt's bottom lip between his and sucked lightly. Matt moaned, his last line of resistance snapping. He wrapped one of his arms around Foggy's shoulders and the other around his back, pushing their chests together._ _

__Foggy grinned happily as Matt started to move with him. Their tongues meeting briefly. Exploring the new territories with tentative movements. Learning and testing the boundaries. Foggy waited for the panic, expected it to come flooding into his veins any second, but it didn't. All he felt was safe and loved and wanted._ _

__Slowly they broke apart, breathing deeply, trying to get air into their deprived lungs. Matt released his shoulders and held his hand near Foggy's face. The question was written in his expression, could he touch him there? Would it break the spell, ruin the moment? Foggy swallowed and grabbed the hovering hand and put it against his cheek. This action did cause his heart to race a little and his stomach to flip, but he didn't pull away. He wanted Matt's touch to wipe away the ones that haunted him. Foggy wanted only good memories attached to this embrace._ _

__Matt waited for him to relax, before starting to caress his cheek slowly, ready to pull away at a moment's notice. Foggy just leaned more into his touch. Matt smiled softly and kissed him again._ _

__This time when they broke apart, Foggy grinned, “So m-m-much better. I-I-I accept this as our f-f-first kiss. L-L-Let's throw the other one out like everyone throws out the first p-p-pancake.”_ _

__“Pancake kiss thrown out,” Matt chuckled, “You know I can see why your lips will be going into the hall of fame.”_ _

__“And the poetry?”_ _

__“I would write a few of poems as well about your kisses.”_ _

__Foggy playfully gasped in horror, “Please don't. Save the world from that.”_ _

__“Hey!”_ _

__Foggy laughed leaning in again to get another taste of Matt._ _

__“I love you,” he whispered._ _

__Matt beamed radiatively, “I love you too.”_ _

__~*~*_ _

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I have written in like three years. And if anyone reads this I hope they aren't disappointed. I don't know if it's good or not. *nervous* I was inspired by the idea of Foggy losing himself only to find that he is stronger than he knew. (Other writers have written this concept better, this is just my spin on it) I will not be going into detail of the torture he goes through but it's bad and will be dealt with as the story goes on. 
> 
> I hope you like it...


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